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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 




UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SEED-TIME AND HARVEST; 



OR, 



SOW WELL AND REAP WELL. 



A BOOK FOB THE YOUNG. 



BY 



W. K. TWEEDIE, D.D. 

■WITH A PEE FACE BY 

H. L. HASTINGS. 



4 Be not deceived : God is not mocked; for •whatsoever a man soweth, that 
shall he also reap,"— Gal. vi. 7. 




iHT, 7 



; . ' "*A 



i^iim 



BOST< 

GOPYRIGH 

H. L. HASTINM^ 
SCRIPTURAL TRACT REP03ITC 

47 CORNHILL. 



. 



EGRESS 
INGTOH 



M 



4 



^3 



Works by W. K. Tweedie, D.D. 

Of the Free Tolbooth Church, Edinburg. 3 vols. Uniform in size 

and style of binding. 

GLAD TIDINGS; or the Gospel of Peace. A series of meditations for 
Christian Disciples. With a preface by H. L. Hastings. 75 cts. 

A LAMP TO THE PATH: or the Word of God in the Heart, the Home, 
the Workshop and the Market-place. With an introduction by 
H. L. Hastings. 75 cts. 

SEED-TIME AND HARVEST : or Sow Well and Reap Well. A Book 
for the Young. With a preface by H. L. Hastings. 75 cts. 



*** Address all orders to H. L. HASTINGS, 47 Cornhill, Boston. 



PREFACE. 



When the bow of promise hung upon the bosom of 
the retreating storm, and stretched its glorious arch 
above a world soft from the waters of the deluge, it 
was promised that ' ' while the earth remaineth, seed- 
time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and 
winter, and day and night, shall not cease." Gen. viii. 
22. From that day to the present, through all the vi- 
cissitudes of earthly history, the seed-time and harvest 
have come; the plower has plowed in hope, the sower 
has gone forth weeping, bearing his precious seed, and 
the reaper has rilled his bosom with the ripened grain 
and returned with joy, bringing his sheaves. 

Thus these constantly recurring periods of labor 
and reward, of faith and fruition, have come to be 
emblems of all the toil and trust of our earthly sojourn, 
and of all the blessings which re ward our labors both 
here and in the world to come. 

If we should plant our gardens with gems and jew- 
els, with diamonds and pearls, we should have no 
harvests. If we should put our trust in culture, and 
think that by breaking the turf, exterminating the 
weeds, and stirring and cultivating the soil, we should 
[iii] 



IV PKEFACE. 

be sure of a good crop, the veriest child would laugh 
at our folly, and would tell us culture never produced 
a crop; that we get nothing good out of the soil 
unless we first put something good into it; that no 
harvest grows except from seed ; and that he who de- 
sires to reap must first sow good seed in the field. 

If we would reap we must sow, and we must sow 
something which has in it, not merely the skill of hu- 
man effort and endeavor, but that hidden energy of 
life which only springs from the Living One, the Crea- 
tor of heaven and earth. All the men that have lived 
on earth might tax their ingenuity to the utmost, but 
they could never produce a seed. Seed must come 
from seed ; life must come from life ; and the Source 
of all the life we know on earth is in the eternal 
Fountain, for k ' the Father hath life in Himself." 

The sower whose seed brings forth thirty, sixty, or 
an hundred-fold, " soweth the word" and that word is 
the word of life, the word of the living God, the 
word that liveth and abideth forever. 

If we are to reap a glad harvest, there must not 
only be seed, but there must be a seed-time. It is 
useless to sow unless the work is done at the proper 
time. He who should undertake to sow his field 
when the reaper is bending to his toil, would have 
his labor for his pains and the derision of those 
around him for his folly. God, who giveth the seed, 
giveth the seed-time ; the present time, the time of 
blessing, the accepted time, the day of salvation. 

The time to sow the seed of life's harvest is in 
youth. If persons would reap well in manhood they 
must sow well in childhood ; if they would reap well 



PREFACE. V 

in eternity they must sow well in time. There are 
thousands who deem it proper to devote their early 
years to sowing "• wild oats. " This occupation they 
find exceedingly pleasurable and attractive, but little 
do they know what a harvest time will bring. Little 
do they imagine what pain, what disgrace, what sick- 
ness, what misery, what degradation, what premature 
decay, and what untimely death comes as a har- 
vest to those who sow " wild oats." The sowing 
may seem pleasant, ' ' but the harvest shall be a heap 
in the day of grief and of desperate sorrow." Isa. 
xviii. 2. 

The world abounds with examples of faithful 
sowing and joyous reaping; and in the pages that 
follow some of these examples are set before the 
young. Their seed-time is now ; and if the seed of 
truth and righteousness is implanted in their hearts, 
the reaping time will be a time of blessing, and the 
joy of the harvest will be a joy unspeakable ; but if 
the sowing time be wasted or misimproved, if the 
seed be the seed of evil thoughts and evil acts, t; Oh, 
what shall the harvest be?" 

The harvest day will come ; and when the harvest 
is past and the summer is ended and the soul not 
saved, it is too late to sow, and it will be vain to 
sigh for the return of departed days. But if the seed 
sown be good seed, and the life lived be a life of 
faithfulness and obedience, they that have sown in 
tears shall reap in joy; they that have gone forth 
weeping, bearing precious seed, shall return with 
rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves. 

We lay these thoughts before the candid and the 



VI . PREFACE. 

thoughtful, and especially the young. We ask them 
to consider what they are sowing, and what they desire 
to reap. And we repeat the apostolic admonition, 
1 'Be not deceived ; God is not mocked ; for whatsoever 
a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that 
soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption, 
but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit 
reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in 
well-doing; for in due season we shall reap, if we 
faint not." Gal. vi. 7-9. 

H. L. H. 

Boston, Mass., July, 1884. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

PAOJC 

The Flitting Brook — The Withered Blossoms — Habakkuk's Hymn 
—Blighted Hopes— The Companion of the Fool— The Redeemer's 
Love— The Godly Youth— Josiah the King— The Naming 13 



CHAPTER II. 

THE HEBREW CAPTIVE. 

The Pitfall— The Hebrew Boy— The True Refuge— The Right Stand- 
ard — The Hero Rewarded— Reaping in Joy — A Pure Conscience 
—Its Reward 23 



CHAPTER III. 

THE HEATHEN'S SON. 

Sorrow from those we Love— The Young Disciple— The Sacred 
Primer— The Gain of Godliness— The Martyr's Death— The In- 
fidel— A Contrast 31 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER IY. 

THE BISHOP. 

PAGE 

Augustine — The Voice of Conscience — The Theatre — The Ways 
of Iniquity — t; The Way of Transgressors is Hard" — The Sinner's 
Anguish — The Sure Decree — The Great Change — Monica — A 
Mother's Power 39 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MONK. 

The Miner's Son — The Yoke Borne in Youth — Earnest, but not 
Converted— A Convent not Christ, fled to— "Vain is the help 
of Man" — Luther's Reaping Time — King3 of the Earth — Combin- 
ed against the Truth— The Victory of Faith— The Monk and the 
Emperor 50 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE KING. 

Early Goodness— The English Josiah— Popery and its Struggles— 
A Model— Clouds and Darkness— The Last Prayer— A Contrast— 
The Death of a Sinner 61 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE JUDGE. 

Sir Matthew Hale — The Escape— Decision, and its Cause — Sabbath 
Love— " A Fruitful Bough"— The Harvest— The World Awed— 



CONTENTS. IX 

tfAGK 

The Eulogy— Judge Hale and Judge Jeffreys— Sowing unto God — 
Paradise Restored 69 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE NOBLE. 

The Fowler's Snare— The Perils of a Court— The Downward Career 
— A Martyr to Sin— The Sinner's Portrait— The Lowest Deep — 
UnKnown God — The x^theist Convicted — The Reaping Time — The 
Prodigal Returning — A Monument of Mercy — A Death-bed Warn- 
ing — The Apples of Sodom — The Voice from the Tomb 80 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE SO LDIER. 

War— Colonel Blackadder — Persecution — The Cameronians — A 
Good Soldier of Christ — A Christian Hero — Blenheim — Oudenard 
—The Armor of God— Perfect Peace— The Battle-field— Miserable 
Comforters — Repose in God — The Believer's Burden — The Misery 
of Soldiers — A Duel— Character ^Retrieved— The Approach of 
Death— The Reward of the World— The Choice 95 



CHAPTER X. 

THE PHILOSOPHER. 

Jonathan Edwards— Religious Childhood — God in Nature — The 
Light of God— Going on to Perfection— The Student— A Model 
— A Prosperous Man — Maxims for the Christian — The Earnest 
Soul — A Spiritual Harvest — Death — The Memory of the Just — 
Glory and Honor t 11 5 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XI. 

THE SAILOR. 

PAGE 

John Newton— The Morning Cloud— The Formalist— Sin and Degra- 
dation — The Suicide— The Potsherd contending with his Maker— 
The Prodigal— The Apples of Sodom— Sorrow upon Sorrow- 
Feeding upon Husks— A Child of Prayer— Increasing to more Un- 
godliness — Conscience Re-awakening — Slavery — Its Woes — The 
Ravages of Sin— Cause and Effect— God's Ways not Ours 131 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE PHILANTHROPIST. 

John Howard — Early Promise— The True Model — God, not Man, 
the Judge— The Mind of Christ — A Living Sacrifice— Self-Dedica- 
tion— The Secret Place of Strength— The Power of Faith— A 
Providence — Howard a Prisoner — The Results — The Divine Ex- 
ample — Rewards — The Companion of Princes — The Heaviest 
Woe — Death Vanquished— Death of Howard— A Beacon 150 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MISSIONARY. 

Christian Frederick Swartz— The Better Part chosen— The Power 
of Love — Hyder Ali — Labors of Love — Trichinopoly — The 
Spiritual Harvest— The Banyan T«-ee— The Wages of Sin— The 



CONTENTS. 



FAGB 

Gain of Godliness — A Good Man's Monument — A Youth Self- 
Ruined — A Grave, not Glory, the Sinner's Lot 170 



CHAPTER XIY. 

THE POET. 

William Cowper —Lessons from a Skull — The Disconsolate Youth 
— Religion Perverted, woe the result— Reason Restored by Truth 
— The Refuge of Lies Destroyed — The Truth and its Power — An 
Anchor within the Veil — *' Alway Rejoicing" — Lord Byron — Hi3 
Death-Bed 184 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE DIVINE. 

Lessons in a Church-yard— Thomas Scott— The Ploughshare of 
Truth— The Misery of Sin— The Wine of Astonishment— The New 
Creature— The Good Seed Sown— Henry Kirke White— The Grand 
Pursuit 196 



CHAPTER XYI. 

THE STATESMAN. 

William Wilberforce— Evil Men and Seducers— Evil Communica 
tions— Snares— The Finger of God— Doddridge's Rise and Pro- 
gress—The Uneasy Conscience— The Change— The New Man — 
The Work, and its Reward— Honoring God— The "Practical 
View"— Blessings— The Bible Society— Slavery Abolished— The 
Hero of Humanity— Wilberforce— Bonaparte— The End of All. . . 206 



3Q1 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE PASTOR. 

PAGE 

Edward Bickersteth— The Young Formalist — Feeling after God- 
Peeping into the Kingdom — The Sinner Saved — The Full Cup — 
Children Taught of God — Songs of Deliverance — More than a 
Conqueror 225 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MERCHANT. 

Samuel Budgett — The Power of Prayer — The First Penny— Hearing 
for Eternity— Devising Liberal Things — Lending to the Lord — 
Pleasant Places — Diligent in Business — The Curse of Prosperity — 
Fingering after Righteousness— Christ is All — The Conclusion 225 






SEED-TIME AND HARVEST; 

OR, 

. m Mell sit* ^j> Ml 



CHAPTER L 

INTRODUCTORY. 



We have wandered b y the margin of a little brook 
which glided silently along through a verdant 
belt where it spread fertility and freshness around 
it. Welling up on the mountain side, it seemed 
to promise a long and an expanding career ; and 
it was not difficult for fancy to picture it widening, 
and deepening, and enlarging as it flowed, till it 
fertilized half a continent, or bore on its bosom the 
navy of an empire, or wafted the wealth of the 
Indies to its havens. But that little brook had 
not advanced far when its course was impeded by 
noxious marshes, where bleak sterility reigned 
around, and where its transparent waters were 
speedily lost amid stagnant corruption. These 
waters, no doubly found their way to the ocean 



14 THE FLITTING BROOK. 

at last, but it was by some dark and subterraneous 
passage, where they shed no visible fertility, and 
imparted no beauty to the scene. 

Is not that an emblem of what often befalls in 
infancy and youth? A little child, the object of a 
thousand solicitudes and tender cares, starts on his 
career of life. For a season he appears to be 
beautiful exceedingly, and the hearts of hundreds 
are linked to him in closest affection, for they see 
him only as surrounded by the halo of hope. But 
time steals on. The child becomes the boy. The 
boy becomes the youth. The youth becomes the 
man ; and close-handed worldliness has blighted all 
that once seemed fair and promising — perhaps un- 
blushing crime now stains what once appeared so 
innocent and beautiful, and the heart of a father or 
a mother is broken at the thought of 

" Hope's honey left within the withering bell." 

The flitting brook, or the weeping willow, may 
thus be the type of man. 

We have walked in the garden in spring, when 
all was beauty to the eye and music to the ear, and 
noticed with delight how the rich blossoms gave 
promise first of the plenitude of summer, and then 
of the mellow autumn. In its wondrous laboratory 
prolific nature seemed to be preparing the bounties 
of Him who is the author of every good and per- 
fect gift, to make glad the hearts of hundreds ; and 
fancy revelled without an effort in the stores which 



THE WITHERED BLOSSOMS. 15 

appeared to be in progress. But on the morrow 
we revisited the scene, and it was now. one of 
desolation — like death, a killing frost had nipped in 
a night all the promise of yesterday, and blackness, 
corruption, and blight now reigned where beauty 
was so recently conspicuous. 

And is not that another emblem of what often 
happens in youth? Its blossoms "go up like 
dust." To-day all promise, to-morrow all dis- 
appointment. To-day cherished with fondness, as 
the hope of many hearts — in a brief period only 
illustrating the truth, " Iniquity is bound up in 
the heart of a child !" Though the earth be often 
spanned by the rainbow, it may be true all the 
while that a tempest is raging. 

We have passed by the fields of the husband- 
man when they were prepared in spring for the 
seed — when that seed was committed to their 
ample bosom, and when the dews of heaven, with 
the early and the latter rain, were expected to 
impart fertility at the bidding of Him who " visits 
the earth, and waters it ; who greatly enriches it 
with the river of God, which is full of water ; who 
prepares them corn when he has so provided for 
it ; who waters the ridges thereof abundantly ; who 
settles the furrows thereof; who makes it soft with 
showers ; who blesses the springing thereof." 

But all was deceitful. A withering mildew came, 
like the locusts of old, and the hope of the husband- 
man perished. He had to betake himself, whether 



16 habakkuk's hymn. 

he would or no, to Habakkuk's hymn — " Although 
the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be 
in the vines ; the labor of the olive shall fail, and 
the fields shall yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut 
off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the 
stalls : Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in 
the God of my salvation." 

And is not that also an emblem of what often 
happens in youth ? All is done that human care 
could do, to nurture in wisdom, and lead in the 
paths of pleasantness and peace. 

"Parents first season us ; then schoolmasters 
Deliver us to laws ; they send us bound 
To rules of reason, holy messengers, 
Pulpits, and Sundays," 

but all is like water spilt upon the ground. He 
that is unholy continues unholy still. Reason, con- 
science, hope, and fear, are all swept away by the 
whirlwind gust, or slowly sapped by the corrupting 
power of passion. Like the unwary bee, drenched 
in the nectar of the foxglove, and unable to fly to 
its hive, such youths are clogged and ruined by the 
fancied joys at which they grasp. 

We have seen a princely pile of building reared 
half-way, and there left a monument of man's folly 
or ambition, or both. Marble gleamed there — the 
East and the West sent their riches to adorn it, 
while Art had done its utmost to lend beauty to the 
structure, and men hurried from iat and near to 



BLIGHTED HOPES. 1 i 

study its grandeur, or measure its pre portions. 
But the ambition of the owner transcended his re- 
sources, and the pile now serves only as his monu- 
ment or mausoleum. 

It is an emblem again of youth ! Mighty pro- 
jects, airy hopes, sanguine anticipations, and a life 
of sunshine without a cloud, form the fancy-picture 
of many a young aspirant. But that picture van- 
ishes like the mirage of the desert, and, like the 
half- finished fabric of the ambitious builder, that 
youth perhaps finds a grave amid the ruins of his 
hopes. 

We knew a youth of more than common prom- 
ise, and he was cherished by all who knew him 
as an object of more than common love. In open- 
ing manhood he would become a soldier, and lend 
himself to the butchery, or the pillage, on a na- 
tional scale, which men call glorious war. In an 
attack, he led his detachment to the muzzles of the 
enemy's guns, paused for a breath ere he should 
say " Charge !" and that breath was his last — he 
was stretched on the cold earth a corpse. Need we 
add that this also is an emblem of what is too often 
the doom of youth, 

" When warped into the labyrinth of lies, 
Which babblers called philosopher's devise?" 

— iUlured by some factitious joy into a path which 
promised pleasure, wealth, or fame, they perish in 
the act of grasping at these shadows. They sow 
2* 



18 THE COMPANION OF THE FOOL. 

the wind, and reap the whirlwind — an early grave, 
or a corpse scarce buried in a foreign land, is all 
that remains to wounded and bleeding affection. 
Over such youths, the ancient cry, " Woe, woe, 
woe !" may be dolefully renewed. 

We have seen a child of promise glancing through 
his home for some of his earliest years, the de- 
light of all who dwelt there, and occasioning a joy 
as exuberant as his glee. His mind was quite pre- 
cociously developed; and some in reality, others 
from courtesy, marvelled at his early powers. But 
disease laid its hand upon that centre of many 
hearts, and those who loved the child so premature- 
ly wise, would gladly have seen him as little gifted 
as vulgar children are, could that have stayed the 
ravages of disease. And does not that also find a 
parallel in the history of many a youthful soul ? 
Trained at first with utmost painstaking, he is per- 
haps admired, caressed, and doated on by those 
whom affection blinds. But the latent moral dis 
ease at length breaks out ; it gives 

" Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves." 

Evil communications corrupt good morals. The 
companion of the fool is destroyed — nay, he de- 
stroys himself; and you may perhaps trace his 
pathway through life to the tomb, by the tears 
which are shed by those who follow him thither. 
Like the bones which lie scattered by the grave's 
edge, speaking so eloquently of the littleness and 



THE REDEEMER'S LOVE. 19 

decay of man, these moral wrecks proclaim how 
poor and abject man is, even in his* best estate — 

<: Poor child of dust and death, his hopes are built on sand." 

Yet, amid all that is thus painful in the history 
of many a youth, we should not fail to notice how 
much the word of Him who rules in earth and 
heaven has recorded concerning the importance of 
those years which form the spring and the seed- 
time of life. AYhile God has " set his glory in the 
heavens," it is not less true that " out of the mouth 
of babes and sucklings has he ordained strength, 
because of his enemies." The Saviour of the lost 
repeated the words, and his loving soul let forth all 
its affection regarding that period of life, when 

" Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees." 

— One of the tenderest of his sayings has reference 
to the young, and it seems like a gleam of the very 
light of heaven to hear the Saviour say, " Suffer the 
little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." And 
then, Wisdom — the Redeemer's emblem, or the 
Redeemer himself — walks forth among the erring 
sons of men, and, in winning words, exclaims, — 
" They that seek me early shall find me." It is not 
merely by such general maxims as, "What a man 
soweth, that shall he also reap," that the young are 
warned and allured towards what is pure, and good, 
and true. By line upon line, and precept upon pre- 



20 THE GODLY YOUTH. 

cept, the wisdom of heaven manifests its solicitude 
for them : " Even a child is known by his doings, 
whether his work be pure, and whether it be right," 
is one of its announcements. " A wise son maketh 
a glad father, but a foolish son is the heaviness of 
his mother," is another. " The eye that mocketh 
at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the 
ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young 
eagles shall eat it," is a third. The Book of Prov- 
erbs, containing the wisdom of the wisest man on 
whom our sun ever shone, is full of instruction re- 
garding youth, and nothing is needed but the grace 
of God to bless its deep though simple sayings, to 
make even the young wise unto salvation, to keep 
them from the paths of the destroyer, and lead 
them up to a Father's home on high. 

And while the Word of the Holy One teaches 
us by lessons, it is careful to instruct us also by ex- 
amples. There is a little child who has begun be- 
times to sow the good seed. He had a godly 
mother, who said regarding him, " I have lent him 
to the Lord ; as long as he liveth he shall be lent 
to the Lord ;" and it was done according to her 
vow. The child " ministered before the Lord." 
" He grew before the Lord." " The Lord commun- 
ed with him," as with the holy prophets ; and the 
boy grew in godliness, a blessing and a joy to all 
around. It was the child Samuel, who sought God 
early — who found him, and concerning whom we 
read in the Word of the Lord which " endureth 



JOSIAH THE KING. 21 

fore\ br" — " Samuel grew, and the Lord was with 
him, and let none of his words fall to the ground." 

Or, there is another youth. The people made 
him king over a great nation when he was only 
eight years of age. Yet, surrounded as he was with 
the a'larements and the dangers of a court, he " did 
what was right in the sight of the Lord," " and 
turned not aside to the right hand or to the left." 
He was careful to rebuild the ruined temple of his 
country. He removed every vestige of idolatry, 
and swept the land clean of all that had defiled it. 
The Spirit of God was his guide, and he would en- 
dure no wicked thing before his eyes. That was 
Josiah, who, though only a stripling king, was yet a 
mighty man for God ; and as he honored the Lord, 
he was honored by Him. " He turned to the Lord 
with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with 
all his might ;" and he was largely blessed in his 
deed. 

Seeing, then, that reason combines with revela- 
tion, and daily experience with all past history, to 
proclaim the importance of youth, let us try, in a 
few chapters, to win and warn the young to be wise 
in early years. As is their seed-time, so must their 
harvest be ; — " Sow well, and you will reap well," 
is a maxim which is universally true. But neglect 
such sowing, and the winter of life will overtake 
you, as want overtakes the sluggard. Our little 
book is meant especially for the young, and it goes 
forth to address them, followed by the prayer, that 



22 THE WARNING. 

He who loved little children, and whose Spirit 
made Samuel so early holy, Josiah so early bold 
for God, may bless it to teach them to sow well, 
that they may reap w T ell ; so that they themselves 
may at last be gathered home to the garner of the 
Lord, like a shock of corn when it is fully ripe. 



CHAPTEK U 



THE HEBREW CAPTIVE. 



The heart of man is like the daughters of r ft« 
horse-leech, ever crying, "Give, give." It was de- 
signed to be happy in God ; and unless it be restor- 
ed to His favor, it would be unhappy and restless 
though the whole world were its portion. Youth 
forgets all that, and is reluctant to be undeceived. 
It expects happiness where man finds only disap- 
pointment ; it turns away from God — nay, He is 
often a weariness to youth, and yet it hopes to be 
happy. But to correct that tendency, let us study 
the history of a youth whom God himself had 
taught where to find his joy. — At one period there 
sat on the throne of Israel a king of distinguished 
wickedness, whose name was Jehoiakim. A single 
incident in his life will show how depraved and how 
godless he was. It was in his reign that Jeremiah 
the prophet lived, and some of his prophecies were 
conveyed to the king for his warning and guidance. 
And how did the king proceed % Did he welcome 
the message, and reverently listen to the lessons 
which it brought ? Nay, the haughty persecutor 
took the scroll which the prophet sent, he cut it to 



24 THE PITFALL. 

pieces with a knife, and cast the fragments into the 
fire. The Word of God was hateful to that unholy 
man, as it is offensive to all who live in sin ; and, 
just as wicked men have always persecuted the 
holy when they had the power, the king of Israel 
tried to burn and destroy the "Word of the living 
God. He did just what Popery is doing still, and 
what all men would do whose hearts are not right 
w^h God. 

But when that king had destroyed the Word of 
God, like " the cowled demons of the inquisitorial 
cell," did he escape from "the sword of the Spirit" % 
It seemed a weak and a contemptible thing, and the 
bold sinner could easily cut it to pieces, or consume 
it in the flames ; but wdien he had done all that, did 
he escape from Gocl himself — could these flames de- 
stroy the truth of God, or turn it into a lie 1 Nay, 
all that the proud sinner could accomplish in his 
wrath only helped to hasten forward the fulfilment 
of every recorded word. It was predicted that that 
persecutor should be ignobly " buried with the bu- 
rial of an ass." No man was to lament for him, say- 
ing, " Ah my brother ! or, Ah sister !" " Ah lord ! 
or, Ah hi? glory !" Shame and degradation was to 
be his lot : he had torn and destroyed the word of 
God ; and the destruction which it threatened was 
the lot of that destroyer. That sinner dug a pitfall, 
and was taken in it himself. 

Now, it was during his reign that Nebuchadnez- 
zar — the Bonapar f e of his day — besieged and took 



THE HEBREW BOY. 25 

Jerusalem, and carried away a part of .ts sacred 
vessels to place them in the house of his gods. At 
the same time, he carried aw^y Daniel the prophet 
as a captive ; and it may teach the young both how 
to sow well and how to reap well, or how a busy 
seed-time tends to produce a plenteous harvest, if 
we study for a little the conduct of that captive He- 
brew. 

Daniel was but a youth when he was carried to 
Babylon to grace the triumph of the conqueror. 
Some compute that he was not more than twelve 
years of age, while none suppose that he was more 
than fourteen. In either case, he was only a boy, 
unfriended and alone ; and let us follow him to 
Babylon, and there learn lessons from his life. On 
the banks of the Euphrates there stood a gorgeous 
palace. It was the home of a mighty king — the 
conqueror of kings — and into its capacious halls the 
spoils of fallen empires were collected. Daniel is 
there, a slave to man, but already " made free" by 
his God. He had been cradled in sorrow — for a 
persecutor sat on the throne of his country. He 
had seen Jerusalem besieged and sacked ; he had 
been torn from the land of his fathers, and dragged, 
perhaps in chains, to a distant house of bondage, 
He had to shed many tears— 

" Tears for the dead who die in sin, 
And tears for living crime." 

He was, perhaps, of royal lineage, too ; but the 
3 



26 THE TRUE REFUGE. 

more on that account must he b.e made a captive, 
lor it was the purpose of Nebuchadnezzar to hum- 
ble the pride of Jerusalem. 

But did all this mar the godliness of the captive 
boy ? Did he swerve from his purpose, or, having 
begun well, did he wickedly fall away ? Nay, all 
that happened to Daniel only pressed him nearer to 
his God — only made him more devoted to his ser- 
vice — only urged him to cling the closer to the arm 
which could uphold him. In truth, Daniel at Baby- 
lon became one of the holiest of all the servants of 
the Holy One — " a man greatly beloved." He was 
driven to the true refuge, for he had no human help. 
He sought an asylum under the rock that is higher 
than we ; and, youthful as he was, he was strong in 
the Lord and the power of His might. The truth 
in his soul bore fruit unto holiness ; God was glori- 
fied, and that boy was blessed. 

And mark some of the stages by which Daniel, 
even while a boy, became thus signalized. He w r as 
ordered to be fed with a portion of the king's food, 
and to drink a portion of the king's wine. But to 
Daniel, as a Hebrew, that was pollution. He could 
taste nothing that had been consecrated to an idol. 
He could touch no kind of food that was forbidden 
by the law of Moses, and he therefore resolved, 
cost what it might, " not to defile himself with the 
king's food." The sovereign might command, but 
the captive would not obey. Daniel knew some- 
thins: more authoritative than the word of an earth- 



THE RIGHT STANDARD. 27 

ly monarch, or more attractive than his smile ; and 
the firm purpose of the stripling, therefore, was to 
avoid the contamination of the palace of Babylon. 
In doing so, he might oppose the will of the mighti- 
est monarch then upon the earth ; but what of that, 
when he was obeying the King Eternal % He might 
be endangering his own life, or he might cause his 
fetters to be more tightly ri vetted ; but what of 
that, if his conscience was kept free % Such fears, 
then, and such temptations, had no weight with 
Daniel. Nay, he feared God, and had no other 
fear. It was not the voice of man, it was the voice 
of conscience ; it was not the smile of a creature, 
it was the smile of God ; it was not the prevailing 
custom where he dwelt, it was Jehovah's unerring 
standard, that that believing boy had made su- 
preme ; and, guided by that standard, he was stead- 
fast and immovable amid all that could befall him. 
Alone, unfriended, a captive or a slave, he resolved 
to brave all that could happen, rather than defile 
his conscience by a sin. 

But Daniel's heroism in doing right has not yet 
been all described. He might have courted the 
world's smile : he might have shrunk from its 
frown : he might have tampered with its iniquity ; 
and, as the reward, he might have secured worldly 
prosperity at the expense of Jehovah's withering 
frown. Manhood spent in the service of Mammon 
might have ended in an old age that was blighted, 
without one real blessing, or one solid hope. But, 



28 THE HERO REWARDED. 

far from that, Daniel's godliness was decided at 
every step. When he proposed to abstain from 
the king's food, the courtier who had charge of the 
boy saw nothing but disaster in the proposal. Dan- 
ger rose above danger, till it appeared that death 
would be the sure result. Were the young captive 
to adopt the course which conscience said was right, 
confusion and every evil work would be the issue. 
So reasoned the courtly Ashpenaz ; he never asked, 
what is right ? or, what is duty % or, what saith the 
Lord % but only, what is safe % Daniel, however, 
was not to be moved. Nay, as he trusted in God, 
he would put the matter to the proof: he was ready 
to use only prisoner's fare, assured that if he did so 
in faith, he would not be put to shame. Feed me 
on pulse and water ; feed another with the royal 
dainties ; — and see which shall be the fairest in the 
end. That was the stripling's challenge, for he 
knew that better is a dinner of herbs where God's 
love is, than a stalled ox and strife with the Holy One. 
It was thus, then, that Daniel sowed, and how did 
he reap ? The holy God was his fear and his dread ; 
he did not fear the face of man, and what was the 
result of his heroism % It can be briefly told. In 
an age and amid scenes where luxury and ungodli- 
ness were rampant, Daniel held fast his integrity, 
and friend after friend was raised up — heart after 
heart was opened before him. In the wondrous 
providence of that God whom Daniel feared, Ne- 
buchadnezzar himself became the fast friend of that 



REAPING IN JOT. 29 

youth. Three times did that warlike king take 
Jerusalem in war. He overthrew Nineveh — he de- 
stroyed Tyre — he subdued Egypt — -he vanquished 
the Medes, and carried his arms in the West even 
into Spain, in the East to the banks of the Indus. 
Yet that mighty prince and warrior became the 
friend and protector of this captive boy. And not 
only was Nebuchadnezzar the friend of Daniel. 
Darius, another conquering king of the Medes, set 
his affections upon the prophet. The victorious Cy- 
rus did the same ; in short, the youth had honored 
God, and was not put to shame. He might sow in 
tears, but he reaped in joy. He who holds the 
hearts of all men in his hands, turned them to fa- 
vor Daniel ; for " when a man's ways please the 
Lord, he makes even his enemies to be at peace 
with him." By one resolute purpose — by opposing 
the very beginning of sin — by simply believing in 
God — by declining to move by a single hair's- 
breaclth from the path to which conscience pointed, 
Daniel cleared away a thousand obstructions, and 
escaped from a thousand snares. It was with him 
as it had been with David : " He went on, and grew 
great, and the Lord was with him." Like Joseph, 
" he was a prosperous man ;" and the reason was, 
that his Gocl was for him. Learning, honor, and 
power, under sovereign after sovereign, for three- 
score years and ten at least, were the lot of the 
devoted — the resolute — the God-fearing Daniel. 
When he fed on pulse, he seemed fairer by far than 
3* 



30 A PURE CONSCIENCE ITS REWARD. 

those who fared sumptuously every day. The 
countenance beamed with joy, for the conscience 
was not defiled. The eye was radiant with glad- 
ness, and told of the serenity which reigned within 
— -a joy which all may share when they have learn 
ed with David to say, " God is our refuge and oui 
strength — a very present help in trouble ;" " God 
shall help us, and that right early." The worm 
Jacob can thrash the mountains when he clings in 
faith to the arm of the Omnipotent. In the calm 
of a pure conscience, and the smile of an approving 
God, such a man, both in youth and age, enjoys a 
reward which gems and jewel mines could not buy. 
Some sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind ; but 
they whom God has blessed, sow to the Spirit, and 
of the Spirit reap life everlasting. 

" dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon," 

is the dirge which may be uttered over those who 
trample upon conscience, or ignore the righteous 
claims of the Holy One. " Thy name shall be 
Israel, for as a prince hast thou power with God 
and with men, and hast prevailed," is the eulogy 
of the youth who fears his God, and has no other 
fear. But can he have a sound mind who prefers 
man's smile to God's ? — who lives for the pleasures 
which " sting like a serpent, and bite like an ad- 
der" ? — who with his own hand, and in spite of 
every warning, sows tares, and expects to reap a 
rich and golden harvest? — who plunges into sin, 
and expects to bring up the pearl of great price ? 



CHAPTER III. 



THE HEATHEN S SON. 



Few things in the history of man are more pain- 
fully touching than the ruin and the misery occa- 
sioned by the misdeeds of children. There is a 
widowed mother: she sits in her loneliness and 
weeps — or perhaps her burning eyeballs are too 
parched to yield the sad relief of tears. She once 
wept before, but it was when the delight of her 
eyes was taken away with a stroke. They were 
the tears of affection shed beside a husband's 
grave ; and though numerous they were not scald- 
ing. But now she laments, perhaps over the reck- 
less waywardness of an only son, who has forfeited 
his life to the laws of his country, and appears not 
unlikely to die the death of one hardened in crime. 

Or there is a father : his strong soul is bowed to 
the earth like a willow before the blast — and why 
is he so utterly overwhelmed? It is because one 
whom he had fondly cherished, and for whom he 
had as fondly hoped well, has become the com- 
panion of fools, and, by guilt added to guilt, is 
compelling his stricken parent in agony to cry with 
David—- " O my son Absalom ! my son, my son 



32 SORROW FROM THOSE WE LOVE. 

Absalom ! would God I had died for thee, Absa- 
lom, my son, my son !" or with the older patriarch 
— u My gray hairs are brought in sorrow to the 
grave." 

Or there are an aged pair, far advanced in the 
pilgrimage of life, and misery seems to accumulate 
as they proceed. They were once in affluence, and 
the sun rose and set in gladness on their happy 
home. But now all that has vanished away — 
home, and happiness, and substance — all have disap- 
peared like the summer brook. They are tottering 
forward to the grave, the inmates of an asylum for 
the indigent, or as pensioners on what is often the 
cold hand of charity. And what brought them to 
that condition of woe ? It was the misdeeds of a 
once-cherished boy. We see before us still such 
an aged heart-broken parent, though twenty years 
have rolled away since he was laid in the grave. He 
is wasted, haggard, and at times, scarcely coherent. 
Ever and anon he mutters the once favorite name 
of his boy, but the sentiments which it awakens are 
dashed by the feeling of anguish of which it has 
become the very prolific origin. We repeat it ; of 
all the woe to which man is the heir, none can be 
more poignant, more crushing, or more deadly, than 
that which originates in the misdeeds of children. 

But while many have thus to endure the sore 
anguish of Eli, others are permitted to rejoice in 
spirit over the second birth of those whom they 
love, and to hail them as members of that great 



THE YOUNG DISCIPLE. 33 

family which is named, in heaven and on earth, after 
Jesus Christ. There dwelt, for example, in the 
Holy Land, eighteen hundred years ago, a hoy, who 
knew what it was both to sow well and reap well. 
As to the first, or the sowing, he enjoyed none of the 
advantages which children in our day enjoy. There 
were then no attractive books for the young, no roy- 
al road to knowledge, no decorated books to allure, 
and no illustrated books to simplify. There was 
no printing to make learning common — all had to 
be copied with the hand of man ; and at a period 
long subsequent to that, some of these written vol- 
umes were as valuable as a whole estate, or 
would have cost the income of a parish. But the 
ardor of that boy overcame every obstacle, and 
Timothy, the son and disciple of the apostle Paul 
— for it is of Timothy we speak — did learn to 
read. It requires little effort of the fancy to pic- 
ture the little group with which the Scriptures make 
us acquainted when they are telling of that boy. 
His father was a Greek — that is a pagan — and per- 
haps took little interest in the godly training of his 
child ; but the young Christian of Derbe had others 
to care for him. His grandmother, Lois, w r as his 
early teacher, and it was in the wisdom of God's 
w r ord that she trained him. His mother, Eunice, 
was no less zealous in the same good work, so that 
Paul had reason cordially to speak of " the unfeign- 
ed faith that was in Timothy, which dwelt first in 
his grand mother, Lois, and his mother, Eunice. 5 ' 



34 THE SACRED PRIMER. 

The result was, that " from a child," that favored 
boy " knew the Holy Scriptures, which are able to 
make us wise unto salvation, through faith which is 
in Christ Jesus." Through three generations, grace 
was thus triumphant. The grandmother, the mo- 
ther, and the boy, had all gathered wisdom from 
the heavenly store ; they had sat down at the feet 
of the heavenly Teacher, and experienced the truth 
of Elihu's exclamation — " Who teacheth like God ?" 
But how did Timothy learn to read 1 In some 
parts of Ireland, where books were not common in 
years gone by, it was the custom to teach children 
to read in the grave-yards, with the tombstones for 
their primer, and the chiselled epitaphs for their 
lesson. And missionaries have been known to 
teach their savage flocks the letters of the alphabet 
by tracing them on sand or clay, and making that 
rude material serve as a substitute for books. Tim- 
othy and his godly teachers had no such difficulty 
to surmount, yet his way to learning was by no 
means smooth. We must think of him as " a 
child," stretched, perhaps, on the roof of his home 
at Derbe, in the oriental fashion. Eunice, or Lois, 
is beside him. He has a roll unfolded before him 
containing the Hebrew Scriptures, or perhaps it is 
the Septuagint translation of the Old Testament in 
Greek, and he is busy deciphering first the letters, 
then the words, and then the rich full meaning of 
the book which made him, and has made millions 
besides him, wise unto salvation. And we can easi- 



THE GAIN OF GODLINESS. 35 

ly picture how that devout boy would be encour- 
aged and made glad as he read of Joseph, who sat 
at Pharaoh's right hand ; or Samuel, the prophet ; 
or David, who, while a stripling, slew Goliath, and, 
when a. man, ascended a throne. Little did that 
boy then dream that his own name was to take so 
conspicuous a place among those who shine as the 
stars for ever and ever ! But godliness has " the 
promise of the life that now is, as well as of that 
which is to come ;" and Timothy found, that to seek 
wisdom early, according to the Word of God, is 
the sure path to the reality of glory, honor, and im- 
mortality ; while those who despise that wisdom 
find only the counterfeit and shadow. 

And having thus sowed well " from a child," 
how did Timothy reap 1 He became the attendant 
of the apostle Paul, and again and again did that 
remarkable man rank Timothy side by side with 
himself in his holy epistles. He was the apostle's 
companion in preaching the gospel. He was Paul's 
" son Timothy," or Paul's " own son in the faith." 
He was the apostle's " beloved son," his " work- 
fellow," his " brother," his very second self. He 
was, moreover, the apostle's companion in bonds, 
when they were called to suffer for the truth's sake. 
They shared, it would appear, the prisoner's fare, 
and wore together the prisoner's chain ; so that two 
of the strongest ties which link man to man — a 
common faith, and common suffering for that faith 
— knit these two men to each other, and made them 



36 the martyr's death. 

like one soul. Nor were they far divided in their 
death. The tradition is, that Paul was beheaded at 
Rome for his adherence to the truth ; and from the 
same source we learn that Timothy suffered mar- 
tyrdom at Ephesus — the death of glory, for which 
thousands in early ages panted. 

But Timothy reaped something better still than the 
martyr's crown. The letters which Paul addressed 
to him, rank among the most touching portions of 
the Word of Gocl. Through the son of Eunice 
there has come clown to each successive generation 
of ministers, for eighteen hundred years, the in- 
structions wdiich the Holy Spirit designed should 
fit them for their holy calling, so that even among 
the sons of men, the promised " brightness of the 
firmament," which is to encircle the godly forever, 
has long encircled him who knew the Holy Scrip- 
tures from a child, and whom these Scriptures 
made wise unto salvation. Paul once described 
Timothy as " faithful in the Lord ;" and he stands 
out before us now a monument of the Lord's faith- 
fulness to those who trust in him before the sons of 
men. 

But a contrast may here help us to understand 
more clearly the close connection which exists be- 
tween sowing well and reaping well. David Hume 
is w^ell known as one of the despisers of God's 
truth. He prostituted the powers which God had 
given him to the impious purpose of making God a 
liar. He denied the holy Word, though he confess- 



THE INFIDEL A CONTRAST. 37 

ed that he had never read it, and he reaped his re- 
ward in the plaudits of men who loved, and there 
fore longed, to see the Bible proved untrue, or man 
left without a Saviour, and therefore without a 
hope. 

And while pursuing that career, what were the 
opinions which Hume espoused and defended as 
better to him than the truth of the Scriptures % 
He is called a philosopher. What did his philoso- 
phy teach him % What did he sow 1 what did he 
reap % We give a single example, Hume taught 
that self-murder " is but turning a few ounces of 
blood from its natural channel" — in other words, 
there is no great harm in destroying ourselves. To 
swallow poison, or bleed ourselves to death, or 
blow out our brains, is not very wrong — and that is 
the man whom some have praised as a better teach- 
er than the Bible ! Timothy was wise unto salva- 
tion ; Hume only to the extent of pleading for self- 
murder, or extenuating its guilt. Timothy sought 
to turn many to righteousness ; Hume argued to 
make them grossly polluted. Timothy sought to 
throw the wood of the healing tree into the bitter 
waters of life. Hume spent his days and his 
nights in making them more bitter still. Now, 
which of these was the true philanthrophist ? Which 
the soundest philosopher % Which the most rational, 
happy, and noble-minded man — the youth who lived 
for Gocl, or the man who spoke of his fellow-mortals 
as if they were valueless like brutes % Could we 



38 THE INFIDEL A CONTRAST. 

follow them into the world of spirits, where al] is 
truth and earnestness, and where infidelity is for 
ever at an end, what would be our estimate of their 
sowing and their reaping ? 






CHAPTER IV. 



THE BISHOP. 



When Philip Doddridge was born, he was sup- 
posed to be without life, and accordingly put aside 
for burial. In a little time, however, some symp- 
toms of animation were accidentally noticed, and 
means were adopted to invigorate the infant. Sick- 
ly and feeble as he was, these means were crown- 
ed with success ; and though he carried with him 
through life a delicacy of constitution which might 
often remind him of his feeble beginning, we know 
what he lived, and what he was blessed, to accom- 
plish. To name no more, he was the author of 
" The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul " 
— a book which has been translated into most of the 
modern languages, and been the means of convert- 
ing more souls to Christ than perhaps any other 
book that could be named, except the Word of God. 
It has roused some. It has warned others. Jt has 
enlightened thousands, and helped to guide or to 
cheer the earthly pilgrimage of many now in glory. 

Now, what happened to the feeble infant, Philip 
Doddridge, takes place in regard to many a soul. 
For years, it is not merely pining and feeble ; it is 



40 AUGUSTINE. 

dead— dead to God, or dead in trespasses and sins. 
It is as completely cut off from the enjoyment of 
God, and from all that constitutes the true dignity, 
or the true blessedness of man, as they that are 
dead and buried are cut off from the business of 
life. When Lazarus lay in the tomb, and when de- 
cay had begun to do its loathsome work, who 
would have denied that he was separated by a wide 
or an impassable gulf from the world of living 
men ? And it is the same with the soul as it is 
born into the world. The God who made it de- 
clares that it is "dead in sin." 

But as Lazarus was raised from the tomb by an 
almighty word, so may the soul be quickened by an 
energy from heaven. It may be made a child of 
God by the power of the Holy Spirit ; and we are 
about to draw attention to a case which illustrates 
that most striking change. 

Aurelius Augustine, afterwards Bishop of Hip- 
po, was born in the year 354, at Tagaste, a town in 
Numidia. His father was a heathen ; but his moth- 
er was a Christian, and a woman remarkable for her 
faith and piety. She did all that affection could 
suggest to promote the best interests of her boy ; 
and neither example, nor assiduity, nor many pray- 
ers, were wanting to impress him early with a love 
of the truth, and with the fear of God. She was 
doomed, however, to many years of harassing and 
heart-breaking disappointment. It is true, as that 
boy lived to confess, that in his early years he was 



THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE. 41 

sometimes haunted by fear, in consequence of his 
ungodly ways. Conscience was not wholly dead, 
or wholly silenced ; and it sometimes spoke out for 
God in a way which showed at once the sinner's de- 
termination to sin in spite of it, and the misery 
which he was preparing for himself by such a ca- 
reer. But in spite of conscience, Augustine tells us 
that he spurned at all restraints, and grew up in a 
wickedness such as few have surpassed. Bloody 
games and exhibitions were then common. He 
loved such things with the force of a passion., and 
there fomented those evil desires which made his 
mother wretched on his account, and which, in the 
end, rendered Augustine himself more wretched 
still. Neither her prayers nor her tears were heed- 
ed ; but, goaded onward by his mad love of sin, he 
walked to the enjoyment of it over a mother's 
bleeding heart, and a mother's wounded spirit. So 
blinded was he, that he would have blushed, as he 
records, to be thought less wicked than his compan- 
ions. He even invented false stories of his sinful 
exploits to obtain their applause. He thus made 
such progress in vice as to shut himself up in the 
darkness of sin, and debar God's truth from enter- 
ing his soul.* 

The theatre became one of Augustine's favorite 

haunts, and there he was more deeply drenched in 

guilt than ever. What he calls " the fomentations 

of his fire" were there increased, till he grew hack- 

* Augustini Conf., lib. ii. 

4* 



42 THE THEATRE. 

oeyed in crime. He saw sin tarried into mockery, 
and made a topic of mirth, while all the decorations 
of art, and eloquence, and poetry, and music help- 
ed to make perdition more pleasing and more wel- 
come. His early compunctions for sin were soon 
effaced amid such scenes. The death of his soul 
ceased to give Augustine any concern ; and for 
nine years, he says, he rolled in the slime of sid, 
sometimes attempting to rise, but only sinking deep- 
er and deeper into guilt. " He rushed," as he con- 
fesses, " into the sins by which he desired to be en- 
slaved." Pride and arrogance, and the gaudy inan- 
ities of his profession, as a teacher of Rhetoric, in- 
flated his soul. He loved " gratuitous wickedness," 
or wickedness for its own sake, apart from its fan- 
cied profits or pleasures ; and his own picture of 
himself while in that condition is as powerful as it 
is dark. " The avidity of doing mischief from sport, 
the pleasure of making others suffer, and that with- 
out any distinct workings either of avarice or re- 
venge" — these things prove how far Augustine had 
fallen, how debased he was by iniquity. 

Much of this had taken place when that youth 
was only about fifteen or sixteen years of age. In 
that brief period he had grown mature in sin ; and 
though superstitious fear goaded him at times, he 
rushed on without a check. He prayed, but it was 
in this spirit—" Free me from sin, but not yet ;" 
that is, he wished to sink deeper and deeper into 
woe before he was delivered from it — to swallow 



THE WAGES OF INIQUITY. 43 

another draught of poison ere he applied for an an- 
tidote against what he had already drank ; and with 
that madness which makes the sinner hug the very 
cause of his wretchedness, or drag it with him to 
the edge of the grave, did Augustine, while little 
more than a boy, hasten along the broad road. He 
was the bold companion of fools — the victim of his 
own unsubdued passions — the sport, as he confesses, 
of sin in every form. He was sowing sin, and, by God's 
decree, the fruit of sin is woe and the second death. 

Such, then, was the seed-time of this youth. He 
was busy sowing tares. Night and day he was oc- 
cupied in fostering all that is noxious to the soul. 
What he cultivated was the deadly nightshade. In- 
stead of rearing, he tried to extirpate, everything 
that was good for food or pleasant to the eye. And 
as that was the character of Augustine during the 
spring-time of his life, what was his condition in the 
harvest ? Was his case any exception to the re- 
mark, " What a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap" % Did he " gather grapes from thorns, or figs 
from thistles" ? He himself shall reply. 

Woe and tribulation, bitterness and sorrow, were 
his lot. He discovered at length that he had sunk 
into an horrible pit. " He was excluded," he says, 
" even from the husks which the swine did eat." 
" He was inflamed," he writes, " in his youth, to be 
satiated with infernal fires." He found out that he 
had turned " his back to the light, and to those 
things which really illuminate the face." This man 



44 "the way of transgressors is hard.' 

of genius, of learning, and most subtle mind, once 
envied a poor beggar — he bewailed to his friends 
the pains and toils, the labor and vexation of his 
own lot, compared with that of him who basked by 
the wayside, and begged a bit of bread. " I found 
myself miserable and grieved," is Augustine's cheer- 
less confession. " I doubled that misery ; so that 
if anything prosperous smiled upon me, I was re- 
luctant to lay hold of it, because it flew away al- 
most as soon as I could seize it." Nay, more 
cheerless still, even when he began to groan under 
the burden of sin, and seek deliverance from it, the 
truth eluded his grasp, and his wretchedness was 
augmented from day to day. He found himself in 
darkness, and said with sighs, how long 1 Still, 
however, he followed after objects with which he 
was now dissatisfied, because he knew nothing bet- 
ter to substitute in their place. The fetters which 
his former ways had rivet ted tightly on his soul 
now galled and impeded him. He felt that he 
should give himself to seek God with heart and 
soul ; yet thoughts of which sin is both the parent 
and the nurse haunted the sinner. What if death 
be the extinction of my being ? was one form of 
temptation which assailed him ; and though he re- 
pelled that and all similar thoughts, it tended to fas- 
ten him down a little longer to the earth ; like the 
little bird which flutters to be free that it may soar 
and sing in the sky, but finds itself a prisoner to the 
devices of some wanton boy. 



the sinner's anguish. 45 

Augustine thus sought happiness, yet fled from it. 
Ii: quest of what he sought, he plunged afresh into 
^his old sins,* became more miserable than ever in 
the mire of pollution, and verified to the letter the 
saying of Solomon, when he speaks of sin as biting 
like a serpent, or stinging like an adder. This 
youth was now " like one that lies clown in the 
midst of the sea for rest, or like him that lieth upon 
the top of a mast." " They have stricken me, and 
I was not sick ; they have beaten me, and I felt it 
not : when shall 1 awake ? I will seek it yet again" 
— was his condition. " What were the groanings, 
the labors of my heart !" — is his touching outcry. 
" When I silently inquired, I was so distressed and 
confounded, that the bitterness of my soul no man 
could comprehend by any description I could give." 
Learned as he was, he was forced to exclaim to a 
friend — " Illiterate men rise and seize heaven, while 
we, with all our learning, are rolling in the filth of 
sin." His sorrow now reached a crisis ; and when 
he collected all his misery into one view, " a gn*,at 
gloom," he says, " arose, producing a large flood of 
tears." 

Such is a glimpse, and only a glimpse, of the 
early career of Augustine. There are things re- 
corded concerning him which should not once be 
named — and we pass them by in silence. But 
enough has been said to illustrate once more the 
truth, that what a man sows that shall he also reap. 
* Augustini Conf., lib. vi. 



46 THE SURE DECREE, 

This young man " rejoiced in his youth ; his heait 
cheered him in the days of his youth ; he walked in 
the ways of his heart, and in the sight of his own 
eyes ;" but he forgot what follows — " know thou 
that for all these things God will bring thee into 
judgment." He forgot that God has linked suffer- 
ing to sin, by a law as sure as that which links 
shadow to substance in sunshine. It is, we repeat, 
the irreversible decree of the holy God, that a sin- 
ner shall be a sufferer ; and the young may as well 
attempt to lacerate the body and give it pleasure, or 
feed it on poison and yet keep it alive, or plunge it 
into the depths of the ocean and yet make it pros- 
per and be in health, as oppose the holy will of 
God, and yet be blessed in their deed. Augustine 
felt, to his bitter experience, that " the wages of sin 
is death ;" and what had been earned was paid. 
" Be sure your sins will find you out," is the decree 
of the unchanging God ; and Augustine found, as 
every sinner must sooner or later feel, that that de- 
cree will be carried into effect as surely as God is 
true, and " the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." 
Would youth be happy % Then be God the guide 
of our youth. Would old age be honored % Then 
till hoary hairs let God be He If we con- 
secrate our earliest days to Him, our latest will be 
our best. 

But Augustine at last became a signal monument 
of mercy. Like a brand he was plucked from the 
burning. The grace of God visited and redeemed 



THE GREAT CHANGE. 47 

him, and he could say at last, " I ascribe it to Thy 
grace that Thou hast melted my sins as ice is melt- 
ed." Serenity came after the storm, and the man 
once infatuated or spell-bound learned to say, " My 
mind was set free from corroding cares, and I com- 
muned in playful ease with Thee, my Light, my 
Riches, my Saviour, and my God." — " Thy truth 
was distilled into my heart ; the flame of piety was 
kindled, and my tears flowed for joy." He lived 
under the guidance of that Spirit whom he called 
" the inner Master of the inner man ;" yet he al- 
ways bore about with him, and carried to the grave, 
the scars of his former fighting against Gocl, or the 
marks of his former chains. There still lived in his 
memory the images of evils to which he had been 
habituated. They occurred to him even in his 
sleep ; so that Augustine, the converted man, the 
self-sacrificing pastor, the learned doctor, whose in- 
fluence has now spread over fifteen centuries, had to 
pass up to his place among the pardoned through a 
cloud of grievous affliction. He had long panted 
for heaven — for he had lived till he was seventy -six 
years of age — and his longings to depart were 
quickened by a bitter taste of the evils of a world 
whose sins, for a season, he had so zealously helped 
to augment. God will be true, and every man a 
liar ; and Augustine, converted and unconverted, 
alike warns us to sow well, if we would reap well 
—to give our youth to God, if we would spend our 
time in happiness, on r eternity in heaven. 



48 MONICA. 

No better opportunity can occur for showing to 
the young the power cf a mother's example, or the 
ascendency of a mother's influence, than is afforded 
by the case of Augustine and his mother, Monica. 
It was the saying of West, the painter, in reference 
to a kiss which his mother gave him for one of his 
juvenile works — " That kiss made me a painter.' 
Her smile attached the mind of the boy to that pur- 
suit on w T hich he was predisposed to enter ; it was a 
bland persuasive, and the young artist yielded to its 
gentle, dew-like power. And the same may be said 
of a mother's influence in other spheres. Amid all 
the waywardness of Augustine, Monica never for- 
sook either him c,r the throne of grace on his be- 
half. She followed him from place to place, to be 
his guardian angel everywhere ; and though he often 
deceived her, that he might rush unchecked into sin, 
or revel in iniquity, she never wearied — only once 
did she waver. But when conversing with a minis- 
ter of Christ regarding the wayward object of her 
affection, she was encouraged by his reply to perse- 
vere, and lived to see at last that her prayers were 
answered, the prodigal was reclaimed, and the son 
that had been lost was found. She had taken hold 
of Omnipotence on his behalf, and he was at last 
delivered. While his guilt was immeasurably in- 
creased by the conduct which trifled with a widow- 
ed mother's affections, and walked to sin over her 
very heart, the triumph of faith was on that account 
the more signal and complete. While many a pa- 



. a mother's power. 49 

rent, in effect, causes his child to pass through the 
fire, by training him for the world, Monica rescued 
her son from the fearful pit, by "giving God no 
rest" on his behalf. And surely, if a mother might 
address her dying child as she closed his fading eye, 
with the words, " I wish you joy, my darling ;" the 
mother of Augustine might exult in a similar spirit, 
when she saw him an unfettered slave, standing fast 
in the liberty which Christ bestows — a tree of the 
Lord's planting, and bearing fruit unto holiness, to 
the praise of the grace of his God. 
5 



CHAPTER V. 



THE MONK. 



" The token of a mother's love." Such is the 
inscription which may be read on the tombstone of 
a departed son. It stands on a lovely spot near 
the monument of Francis Jeffrey, and is surround- 
ed by a glorious panorama of sea, and city, and 
mountains far and near. Yet none of these mate- 
rial things affect one so deeply as the simple words, 
"The token of a mother's love." They remind us 
of the saying of Luther, that there is nought on 
earth so lovely as a woman's heart, with God's 
grace to guide its love ; and O, how much can a 
heart so loving, and so guided, achieve % or rather, 
what can it not accomplish % No doubt some, the 
basest, and the farthest fallen of men, can trample 
on a mother's heart, and disregard her deepest 
feelings ; but if aught but Omnipotence could arrest 
a sinner on the way to ruin, or win him back to 
God, it would be the power of a mother's affection, 
armed as it is with a might which nothing but the 
extreme of degradation can resist — We are now 
about to trace the history of one who owed not a 
little to his mother, — we mean the reformer Lu- 



THE MINERS SON. 51 

ther, — and let us view him, first, in the season of 
sowing ; and, secondly, in the season of reaping ; 
or the spring and the autumn of his earthly exist- 
ence. 

On the plains of Mansfeld, and by the banks of 
the Wipper, about the year 1488, a boy might be 
seen at play, who w^as destined to rank among the 
greatest of the sons of men. He was then about 
five years of age, and the poverty of his parents 
soon obliged him to forsake his sports, and adopt 
some means of procuring a livelihood for himself. 
He was early trained in the fear of God ; and his 
father, who was intelligent, though poor, resolved 
to attempt to make his son Martin a scholar. He 
often prayed by the boy's bedside, and at last, after 
invoking the Divine blessing upon him, sent him 
away to a school, where, though he was grave and 
attentive, " his master one morning beat him fifteen 
times in succession." The impetuosity of his tem- 
per exposed Martin Luther to temptation ; and the 
rule then was, to restrain by force and pain rather 
than by kindness. Even his mother once corrected 
him about a filbert till the blood came. Though it 
has been said of her that " she patterned the widow 
of Sarepta, and trained her son in the fear of the 
Lord," she too literally obeyed the maxim of not 
sparing the rod. No wonder, then, that fear be- 
came a ruling passion in that keen boy's mind. 
We read that, even when he heard the name of the 
gentle Saviour, he grew pale with terror. The 



52 THE YOKE BORNE IN YO'JTH. 

compassionate Redeemer had been described to 
young Luther as an angry Judge ; for Popery thus 
perverts the history of Him who will not break the 
bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax. 

When this ardent boy was about fourteen years 
of age, he was accustomed to sing from house to 
house to procure a morsel of bread. He has him- 
self told us that he had to beg. Providence, how- 
ever, found for him a home in the bosom of a 
Christian family, where his powers expanded, and 
his heart began to beat with life, and happiness, and 
joy. Once a begging boy, he is on his way to em- 
inence, because he is cultivating the powers which 
God had giyen him; and when his teacher, Trebo- 
nius, uncovered his head and made his bow, as he 
always did, in the presence of his boys, he had 
more reason to do obeisance than he at all sup- 
posed, at least in regard to the class in which young 
Martin Luther stood. 

At an early period, he had serious thoughts of 
God. He felt his dependence upon Him. He of- 
ten fervently asked the Divine blessing on what he 
did. He began each day with prayer, then pro- 
ceeded to church, then hastened to study, and, 
throughout the day, assiduously employed every 
waking hour. But he was not yet a child of God. 
Conscience might be quick, fear might be strong, 
prayer might be ardent, but nature could make Lu- 
ther all that ; it might not be the work of the Holy 
Spirit, and consequently it was not Christian. In 



EARNEST, BUT NOT CONVERTED. 53 

the library at Erfurt, however, a discovery was 
made which was to change the whole tenor of his 
being. One of the volumes which he opened there 
was a Bible. It was the first he had ever seen, for 
Popery hides the Word of God alike from young 
and old, Luther read, he marked, he read again ; 
and now the spell is broken, his soul will soon be 
on the wing ! Sickness came in his case, as in that 
of the modern Luther, Thomas Chalmers, to deep- 
en these impressions and solemnize the soul ; and 
though no one who knows what conversion is would 
say that Luther was yet converted, impressions are 
made which it will not be easy for him to erase — a 
hand has taken hold of him from which it will not 
be easy to escape. The favor of God now became 
the one thing needful. Conscience was roused. 
He trembled as before the Judge ; and when the 
question rose from his heart to his lip, " Am I sure 
that I enjoy the favor of God ?" conscience loudly 
answered, No. He lost a friend by the hand of an 
assassin, and now the inquiry was, — What would 
be my lot were I suddenly cut down as Alexis was ? 
Next, a thunder-storm overtakes Luther ; he is ter- 
rified, and vows to enter a convent. There, he 
thinks, he will escape from sin ; he will become 
holy, and so prepare himself for heaven. Mortifi- 
cation, fastings, vigils, penance, self-inflicted woe, 
are to do again what the death of the Son of God 
had done already ! Self-salvation, self-righteous- 
ness, the Redeemer dethroned, and man in his place 
5* 



54 A CONVENT, NOT CHRIST, FLED TO. 

— "behold the objects aimed at by Luther, and by 
crowds besides, in entering a convent ! The menial 
offices which he performed, the drudgery to which 
he submitted, and the insolence which he endured 
from stupid monks, were all like a price offered to 
Him who invites us to come " without money and 
without price " at all. Young Luther was not yet 
a Christian. He did not know that it is not a con- 
vent, but Christ, that saves the soul. 

At length, however, the Word of God began to 
assert its own supremacy. In his convent Luther 
found another Bible, fastened by a chain to a partic- 
ular spot, and that was his place of frequent resort. 
Still he did not savingly understand the Scriptures. 
He read like the blind groping for the wall ; he 
scarcely even saw men like trees walking ; he was 
still a monk of the intensest kind ; and he has care- 
fully recorded, "that if ever a monk had got to 
heaven by monkery, Luther would have been he." 
Yet fear haunted him still. His conscience grew 
more enlightened ; its condemnation was therefore 
more loud ; and the young monk sank into despair 
when he could find no righteousness within, and 
knew of no righteousness without. A moral tem- 
pest swept over his soul, and Luther was driven of 
the wind and tossed. The smallest faults were now 
regarded as great sins. In a word, he says, " I tor 
mented myself to death to procure peace with God : 
but, surrounded with fearful darkness, I nowhere 
found it." How could he find it, when he was not 



"V\TN IS THE HELP OF MAN." 55 

seeking it where alone it can be found — in the Sav- 
iour of the lost? But God was thus training Lu- 
ther for his future work. He was to know that 
vain is the help of man, that a retreat into a cloister 
is not conversion, that self-inflicted torture is but 
another form of sin : he must either get possession 
of something higher and better, or perish in his un- 
relieved misery. 

And at length deliverance came. A man of wis 
dom and of experience — in short, a Christian — vis- 
ited Luther's convent, and soon discovered Luther's 
condition, " Instead of making a martyr of thyself 
for thy faults," this visitor said, " throw thyself into 
the arms of the Redeemer. Confide in Him, in the 
righteousness of his life, and the expiation of his 
death. Keep not back. God is not angry with 
thee — it is thou who art angry with God," were his 
wise and soothing words. Such counsels proved the 
balm of Gilead to that wounded spirit ; and the 
Scriptures, so dark or so terrifying before, became 
" an agreeable sport, and the most delightful recrea- 
tion." He had found Christ in them, and that made 
him leap for joy. " O, my sin, my sin, my sin !" 
exclaimed the monk.* " Know that Jesus Chrisl 

* It proves the presence of the " one Spirit" to notice 
tow identical are the feelings of men of every class and 
country when convinced of sin. An aged Kaffir, named 
Genote, once employed the very language of Luther when 
in similar circumstances. " 0, my sins, my sins !" he said 
to a missionary. "The greatness of my sins makes my 



5(5 LUTHER'S REAPING TIME. 

is the Saviour even of those who are great, real 
sinners," rejoined the brother born for adversity. 
Luther now saw light in God's light, and his soul 
began to magnify the God of his salvation. " It is 
impossible to comprehend God out of Jesus Christ," 
and that truth received into his heart, filled it with 
peace and joy in believing. Luther was now a 
Christian. The spirit of God had showed him the 
things of Christ, and Christ had become " all his 
salvation." 

Tims, then, did Luther sow in tears, now hoping, 
and again despairing ; now seeking to lean on some 
creature for help, and then driven by the law of 
God from that refuge of lies. But consider next 
how he reaped, after his days and nights of toil. 
Never a more abundant harvest on earth than his. 
He grasped the Word of Gocl, he laid it up in his 
heart, and it literally became the seed of the king- 
dom in his soul. He became a man whose word 
made the world resound, and who shook even the 
terrible Papacy to its basis. It is true, Luther once 
begged for a bit of bread, but it is as true that God 
chooses weak things to confound the mighty. To 
be great we must begin with being little, and God 
set this man among princes at last. Having taken 
into his heart the great central truth, that Christ, 
and Christ alone, is the Saviour of sinners — a truth 

heart as heavy as a mountain of lead." It is the meeting 
of extremes — the greatly gifted Luther, and the naturally 
embruted Kaffir. 



KINGS OF THE EARTH. 57 

almost wholly buried under the corruptions of Pop- 
ery — Luther went forth conquering and to conquer, 
and never halted till he had subdued a large portion 
of Europe by that truth. Joyous, hearty, and hap- 
py amid all his trials, he burned the Pope's bulls, 
he denied the Pope's power, he opposed the Pope's 
emissaries ; in particular, he resisted one who had 
been sent out from Rome to sell to the Germans 
Indulgences in sin, and, in that holy war, he emanci- 
pated millions in Christendom. By the blessing of 
God, Luther, in short, accomplished what no man 
since the days of the apostle Paul had achieved. 

There is a brilliant assemblage convened at 
Worms ; it is designed to suppress the progress of 
Luther's triumphs. All that is reckoned great and 
gorgeous on earth was there. An emperor, Charles 
V., in whose dominions the sun never set, presided ; 
six electors of his empire were present ; twenty- 
four dukes were there, with thirty archbishops and 
bishops ; seven ambassadors ; and among them one 
from England. The nuncios of the Pope swelled 
the lordly crowd, till two hundred and four person- 
ages, with an emperor at their head, formed the tri- 
bunal before which Martin Luther, the poor and 
solitary monk, was to appear for God and truth, 
Aid was he put to shame ? Nay. " Advance in 
Jie name of God," whispered one to him, " and 
fear nothing — God will not forsake you" — and Lu- 
ther advanced. The Pope had condemned him, but 
God stood by him. Luther was under the ban of 



58 COMBINATION AGAINST THE TRUTH. 

Antichrist, but He who is a sun and shield was near 
him to shelter. The Pope had doomed him to per- 
petual silence : Luther was about to speak to hun- 
dreds of assembled princes. One of these very 
princes said to him — " Fear not them who can kill 
the body, but cannot kill the soul" — and he was 
comforted. Startled for a breath before such an as- 
semblage, but soon calm again, because " stayed 
upon God," Luther did his duty, and feared no evil. 
" O God ! O God ! O thou my God !" was a clause 
in his prayer at one of these appearances. " Assist 

me against all the wisdom of the world 

The cause is thine ; and it is just and everlasting. 
O Lord, be my help. Faithful God, immutable 

God, I trust not in man Stand by 

my side, for the sake of thy well -beloved Son, 
Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my buckler, and 
my fortress." As he thus trusted in God, he was 
helped. He was, in short, with God ; and before 
the august tribunal, he was kept serene and self-pos- 
sessed. Prayer — at least the answer to it — had 
made him great and strong. When asked — would 
he retract his views ? he replied, without violence, 
calmly, meekly, and modestly, but with great firm- 
ness, in the very presence of the emperor — that till 
he was confuted by the writings of the prophets and 
apostles, he would not ; but, were that clone, he 
added, " I will forthwith retract all my errors, and 
be the first to seize my writings and commit them 
to the flames." " I neither can nor will retract any 



THE VICTORY OF FAITH. 59 

thing, for it is not safe for a Christian to speak 
against his conscience." Then, gazing on the as- 
sembly before which he stood, and which held his 
life in its hands, Luther exclaimed — " Here I am ; 

I CANNOT DO OTHERWISE ; GoD HELP ME. AmEN." 

" The w r ritings of the prophets and the apostles" 
— these formed Luther's stronghold. From these 
he would not be dislodged ; for he felt that God 
w r as in them of a truth. Behind that breastwork 
he could cope with and conquer emperors, princes, 
and potentates of every degree. Before the truth, 
the power even of the Papacy quailed. Upheld by 
it, Luther fought the good fight of faith at Worms ; 
and through all his heroic pilgrimage, till he died 
in peace, he was kept steadfast by that anchor ; he 
was safe behind that high tower. He had sowed 
indeed in tears, and tears he often shed, both over 
sin within, and sin around him, for few ever strove 
as he did to keep a place for God in God's own 
world. But, by God's grace, Luther succeeded ; and 
in his own day, in our day, and till time shall be no 
more, his struggles will be found to be the means 
of emancipating, exalting, or purifying the minds of 
ten thousand times ten thousand. Such was, such 
is, and such w T ill be, Luther's harvest. " God help 
me, for I can retract nothing" — O, had our youth 
the grace and the heroism to imitate that example 
to hold fast God's holy Word amid the scoffs and 
the taunts of godless companions, how bright would 
be the prospects of the future ! In the Hall of 



60 THE MONK AND THE EMPEROR. 

Worms, there was a mighty emperor, but there was 
a mightier monk. And why mightier ? Because 
the Redeemer kept his word — " Lo, I am with you 
always." And is he not present still, to strengthen, 
to counsel, and to shield all who place their confi- 
dence in him % Was " that solitary monk who 
shook the world" an exceptive case % Nay. Were 
we like him — as faithful to God, and as resolute in 
clinging to his arm — it would be seen how rich a 
harvest we should reap. Is not God's w T isdom stil 1 
ample 1 Is not God's righteousness still all that we 
can ask or think % Is not God's strength still suffi- 
cient 1 Is not his Son still and forever his unspeak- 
able gift ? And all these are ours, if w T e sow as 
Luther did, to the Spirit, and live as Luther did, 
unto God. 






CHAPTER VI. 



THE KING. 



It is not very common to find godliness on a 
throne. The Scriptures, indeed, tell kings to be 
wise. They assure us that kings shall yet be the 
nursing fathers of the church, and thus point us for- 
ward to the time when, at the name of Jesus, every 
knee shall bow. They say that, " not many wise 
men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many no- 
ble, are called ;" but, there are some : and, in the 
fulness of time, we know, the kingdoms of this 
world will yet become the kingdoms of the Lord 
and of his Christ. 

Let us now glance at the history of a king who 
anticipated those days of glory, and, by the grace 
of God that was in him, strove to make his king- 
dom truly a portion of the kingdom of Christ. It 
is well known that that was the character of Ed- 
ward VI. of England ; and if we consider how well 
he sowed, and how abundantly he reaped, the hap- 
py lot and life of a child of God may become more 
and more apparent, or be more and more com- 
mended to the young. 

That prince was born in the year 1537, and 

a 



62 EARLY GOODNESS. 

though his father was the fierce and fiery Henry 
VIII., the youth was early placed under the guard- 
ianship of able and godly instructors. At the age 
of six, Sir Anthony Cook, who is described as a sin- 
cere friend of the Gospel, became Edward's tutor ; 
and such was his rapid progress and his early pro- 
ficiency, that one has written, " It might make our 
hearts melt even to hear him named." Nor was 
that altogether the flattery of a courtier. Some let- 
ters of Prince Edward, written in Latin and French, 
when he was only nine years of age, still remain, 
and sufficiently attest his extraordinary attainments 
as a boy. 

But it is not merely early scholarship ; it is early 
goodness that signalizes Edward VI. That the 
Spirit was his teacher is manifest from much that 
he wrote and did ; while his reverence for the Word 
of God, the fountain of all good, is sufficiently at- 
tested by the well-known fact, that when a Bible 
was placed for him to stand on that he might reach 
some object that he washed to examine, he declined 
to place his foot upon the volume, and stated that it 
should rather be treasured up in his head and his 
heart. Is that the spirit of many of the young 1 

When Edward was only in his tenth year, his fa- 
ther died, so that at that tender age this young 
prince ascended a throne amid keen contending fac- 
tions. Archbishop Cranmer then reminded him of 
Josiah's youthful zeal in reforming his church and 
land, and urged king Edward to make the king of 



THE ENGLISH JOSIAH. 63 

Israel his model. Nor was he averse to act on the 
advice ; and on the very day of his coronation, he 
showed to what he looked for guidance. Three 
swords were "borne before him, emblematic of his 
three kingdoms; but the young monarch wished a 
fourth — the Sword of the Spirit, the Word of his 
God. To that he traced up all his power ; and he 
told his courtiers, that " he who rules without the 
Word of God is not to be called God's minister, or 
a king." The Bible was accordingly carried before 
him, as at once the charter of his rights and the 
guide of his life. 

His correspondence with Granmer, when only a 
child, enables us to see farther still into the heart 
of Edward. He told that prelate, that " he con- 
sidered godliness as a thing to be desired and em- 
braced by him above all things;" and when one so 
young acted resolutely on that maxim, we need 
not wonder to hear it said, that at no subsequent 
time was religion more generally prevalent in 
England than in the days of Edward VI. The 
country was adorned and enlightened by the Word 
of God. The mass, that Dagon of Popery, began 
to fall ; images were swept away, and other forms 
of superstition abolished. Amid all this, the king, 
though only eleven years of age, was studiously 
preparing for his kingly functions by acquiring 
knowledge regarding his realm ; and to some of the 
wisest of his subjects the royal boy appealed for 
information on such subjects as the following :— 



64 POPERY AND ITS STRUGGLES. 

Whether religion, besides promoting the glory of 
God, be not also the the best means of promoting 
civil order ? Indeed, such solidity of judgment, and 
such deference to God in one so youthful, and sur- 
rounded by so many snares, are more like some 
embellished legends than simple historical facts ; 
they could scarcely be credited, were there not doc- 
aments of that period still in existence which prove 
beyond a question that Edward VI. w r as all that we 
have said. A foreign divine once told him to " hold 
it an undoubted truth, that true prosperity was to 
be obtained by him in no other way than by sub- 
mitting himself and his whole kingdom to Christ, 
the highest Prince ;" and the monarch of England 
delighted to act on the advice. 

Nor was the advice unnecessary. The intrigues 
of Papists, struggling then as now for power, 
threatened to embroil the kingdom. Other plots 
thickened, so that, though Edward strove to show 
that " by God do kings reign," he was not without 
the tribulation which is the way to the kingdom 
above, to monarchs and menials alike. 

He was now thirteen years of age, and, compar- 
ed with youth of the same age now, King Edward 
may be classed among men of erudition, while "the 
manifold grace of God that was in him " shone 
more conspicuously than even his learning. He 
wrote to one of his subjects, at that time in France, 
to "regard the Scripture, or some good .book, and 
give no reverence to the mass at all." In a word, 



A MODEL. 65 

the secular and the spiritual were beautifully blend- 
ed in the attainments of King Edward. His king- 
dom and his soul were attended to as before God, 
each in its own place ; and no finer character can 
attract the regard of the youthful student of history 
than that of Edward, the successor of such a king 
as the tyrannical Henry VIII., the predecessor of 
such a queen as the bloody Mary. — As those of 
Edward's age roam in quest of health on the moun- 
tain-side, they may have noticed some gentle little 
flower — the wood anemone, forget-me-not, or heart's- 
ease — seeking a shelter in that inclement spot un- 
der the shade of some tall shrub, while overhead 
the curlew's plaintive cry may sound like a wail 
over the lonely thing. So lonely was Edward VI. 
in that high sphere which he graced so well, but 
where so many strove to draw him from his stead- 
fastness. That he held fast his integrity, however, 
is certain ; — it is proved by the fact that he offered 
John Knox a church in London, though that bold 
man had reproved, in a sermon, the misconduct of 
the Duke of Northumberland, and the Marquis of 
Winchester, even to their face. 

But all this promise was about to be blighted — a 
dark portentous cloud was gathering over England 
and the Reformation. In 1552, symptoms of con- 
sumption began to appear in the king ; and as we 
have seen how assiduously, and with how many 
prayers he sowed, let us now consider how he reap- 
ed. He, if ever one, sought God early — he, if ever 
6* 



Q6 THE LAST PRAYER. 

one, employed the seed-time well and wisely ; and 
what was his reward when his autumn so suddenly 
came? 

His anxiety to secure a Protestant successor, in 
the event of his own death, perhaps led Edward to 
adopt some unwise or impolitic steps ; but in as far 
as the accounts of his closing hours have reached us, 
"they were peace." He appeared, indeed, to be 
cut off in the midst of his days, but no doubt 

"He lived till life's great work was done," 

and the manner of his death shows how ripe he was 
for a better and a brighter crown than that of Eng- 
land. He had endowed Christ's Hospital, in Lon- 
don, for soldiers ; St. Bartholmew's for the sick and 
the maimed ; Bethlehem for the insane, and allotted 
Bridewell for the idle and the dissolute ; and when 
he attached his signature to the deeds, with a dying 
youth's trembling hand, he thanked God that he 
had lived to do it. But he had to address himself 
to yet more solemn work — he had to die — and 
about three hours before his death, the royal boy 
offered up the following prayer : — ■ 

" Lord God, deliver me out of this miserable and 
wretched life, and take me among thy chosen. 
Howbeit, not my will, but thine be done. Lord, I 
r( mmit my spirit to thee. O Lord ! thou know est 
now happy it were for me to be with thee ; yet, for 
thy chosen's sake, send me life and health, that I 
may truly serve thee. my Lord God, bless thy 



A CONTRAST. 67 

people and save thine inheritance ! O Lord God, 
save thy chosen people of England. O my Lord 
God, defend this realm from Papistry, and maintain 
the true religion, that I and my people may praise 
thy holy name ; for thy son Jesus Christ's sake." 

In spite of all his boasted independence, man is 
only a climbing plant — a parasite. Left to himself, 
he trails along the earth — he grovels in the dust ; 
but clinging, as the vine-tree clings to the espalier 
or the elm, he mounts and soars till he has reached 
the topmost bough, and then you may see his ten- 
drils still shooting up into space, as if he would 
mount, and climb, and soar yet farther. Edward 
VI. was a plant of this class. He clung close to the 
Plant of Renown, and by its help we have seen how 
soon he shot up to the stature of perfection. 

Now, were it not a blessed thing were youth in 
every sphere to be as early decided as this " British 
Josiah" 1 Though events occurred in his reign 
which all will deplore, Edward was preserved from 
many entanglements by his early resolution to be 
for God, and not another ; and it would be the 
same with all, were all decided like him. Surely no 
one ever regretted being too early saved ! Surely, 
surely no one ever lamented being too soon ripe for 
heaven ! As the young tree is easily bent, and the 
brook at its spring-head easily turned aside, godli- 
ness may be more easily learned in youth than age ; 
and we give it as the result of twenty years' expe- 
rience, that we have known few old men converted 



68 THE DEATH OF A SINNERo 

— we can name only one in all that time. On the 
other hand, the early godliness of Edward VI. seems 
to beckon the young to be followers of him in the 
narrow way ; and if his case do not allure, are there 
not others which may well terrify or drive ? "I 
once saw a man dying," said a minister of Christ, 
" who was a terror to himself and all who saw him. 

He was not thought a very wicked man. 

But the king of terrors soon made him think and 
tremble. Behind him he saw nothing but a life 
spent without love to Christ, and before him he saw 
nothing but the wrath of an angry God ; in his body 
he felt nothing but pain and weakness, and in his 
soul nothing but remorse and despair. He rolled 
about his wild eyes, and smote his breast, and 
wrung his hands : he cried for pardon, and spoke 
some dreadful words about eternal damnation, and 
then groaned, trembled, and died." 

Now, will the young contrast this death-scene 
with that of King Edward 1 

Will they decide which death they would prefer 
to die — the death of the royal boy, breathing out 
his soul to God who gave it ; or of the guilty man, 
blaspheming himself into a darker eternity ? 

Will they answer the question, Is it not madness 
to delay ? 

Entangled in the world, and lost forever ; or con- 
querors over the world through the grace which 
came by Jesus Christ— which should the young, if 
they be wise, prefer % 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE JUD GE. 



In climbing the cone of Mount Vesuvius, when 
the volcano is active, streams of molten lava may 
sometimes be seen creeping slowly clown the slope. 
When the eruption is violent, the matter which it 
discharges either falls in fiery showers, or rushes 
down the mountain with a speed from which it is 
difficult to escape. But in calmer states of the vol- 
cano, the stream is sluggish, if it may be called a 
stream at all. 

On the molten matter it is easy to stamp any 
impression that may be desired. The contents of 
Mount Vesuvius, at times so wild and desolating, 
may thus be shaped into graceful figures, such as 
may ornament the halls of monarchs, or adorn the 
persons of their queens. In other words, by man- 
agement and care, what would be dangerous and 
destructive, is converted into a decoration. When 
the lava is taken at the proper time, it may oe ren- 
dered not merely harmless, but a source of wealth, 
or of pleasure and enjoyment. 

And it is the same in regard to the mind of man. 
Take it when tender and impressible, and you may 



70 SIR MAT'lHEW HALE. 

mould it at pleasure ; let it become fixed and rigid, 
and it will mock your utmost power. Let us now 
study the life of an eminent man who was thus early 
impressed. 

Sir Matthew Hale, " the renowned Lord Chief- 
Justice of England," was one of those men who are 
raised up from time to time, as if to tell the world, 
by a living example, what true Christianity is. 
Though he was engaged in a profession which rank- 
ed among the most engrossing of all, and lived in 
an age when the minds of men were greatly dis- 
turbed by civil commotions, he still held fast his in- 
tegrity. He was a burning and a shining light ; 
and both Oliver Cromwell and Charles II. rejoiced 
to do him honor. Would the young learn how to 
be steadfast and unmovable, or how to fear God, and 
have no other fear ? Let them study with care the 
life of Judge Hale, first in youth, and secondly in 
manhood — or, first in the seed time, and then in the 
autumn of his earthly existence. 

He was born in the year 1609, and lost his moth- 
er before he was three years of age, his father be- 
fore he was five. He was religiously trained, how- 
ever, by some pious relatives, and became an extra- 
ordinary scholar, both at school and at Oxford. As 
too often happens, some incidents took place in his 
youth which, for a time, enticed him from the path 
on which he seemed to have entered. He appeared 
to choose his portion among some of those whom 



THE ESCAPE. 71 

the hAj God so often declares to be fools. He 
seemed to be in training to pour 

" Curses on his heart who stole 
The gem of truth from his unguarded souL" 

But young Hale was soon set free from these tram- 
mels, and adopted resolutions concerning them 
which he was enabled to keep throughout his subse- 
quent career. He also had felt that evil communi- 
cations corrupt good manners ; and when he expe- 
rienced their degrading effects, he broke loose from 
them at once, to rejoice in the freedom which can 
be enjoyed only by the holy and the pure. 

It was when he was about twenty years of age 
that Hale became deeply sensible of the folly of 
those paths in which most of the young are prone 
to walk. He then abandoned the habits which had 
been growing upon him in spite of his early train- 
ing, and betook himself so resolutely to study as a 
lawyer, that for many years he read at the rate of 
sixteen hours each day. This happy change in the 
soul of Hale was wrought by means of a lawyer in 
London, whom experience had taught the costly 
price which man must pay for sinning. The father 
of that lawyer had disinherited him for the vices of 
his youth, and a younger and a better brother suc- 
ceeded to the family estates. Mortified by this, 
Gl anvil began solemnly to reflect on his conduct, 
and a thorough revolution was ere long wrought in 
his life. When the younger brother saw the blessed 



72 DECISION, AND ITS CAUSE. 

change, he invited his own and his brother's friends 
to a feast, and when the party assembled, there 
were found under the cover of the disinherited 
youth, the titles to his estate, thus formally restored 
by his brother. He had done what he was sure 
their common parent would have done, had he lived 
to see the happy change which came over that 
youth, whose own experience thus fitted him to act 
as a friend and a counsellor to Matthew Hale when 
in danger of yielding to temptation. That disinher- 
ited youth, when he gave way to vice, had sown the 
wind, and reaped the whirlwind, and his case was a 
warning to all who can reflect. He could speak be- 
cause he had felt, and some were wise to listen. • 

But young Hale was rendered still more decided 
in his religion by an event which happened to one 
of his companions. He was suddenly taken ill in 
Hale's presence, and supposed to be dead. As that 
youth had brought his illness on himself by his own 
hand, Hale immediately withdrew to another apart- 
ment, where he fell upon his knees and cried for 
mercy. — It was the deciding point in his history ; 
and from that event his time was divided between 
religion and the duties of his profession. To show 
how watchful he now became in regard to his sou], 
it may be mentioned, that habits were formed at 
this period in which he persevered through life, in- 
somuch that for six-and-thirty years he never was 
absent for a single Sabbath-day from the house of 
God. He revered that sacred institution as one of 



SABBATH LOVE. 73 

Heaven's most blessed gifts — the very queen of 
days. 

But the plan of life adopted by this youth may 
enable as to understand how laboriously he sowed 
beside all waters. One of his regulations was, to 
renew his covenant with God in Christ from time to 
time ; and by renewed acts of faith to receive Christ, 
and rejoice over his relation to him. Another was, 
to set a sleepless watch over his infirmities and pas- 
sions, as well as the snares which were laid in his 
way. A third was, to serve God in his ordinary 
calling, and to " mingle somewhat of God's" in all 
that he did. A fourth regulation was, to review 
the evidences of his personal salvation, and the state 
of his soul from time to time. By these and simi- 
lar resolutions, carried out with admirable persever- 
ance, he reduced his mind to great subordination, 
and was able to blend the service of God with his 
most ordinary studies. Indeed, his common duties 
were religion, so that his soul became like a well- 
watered garden — -" a garden inclosed." Though 
careful never to parade his religion like the hypo- 
crite, he was as careful not to hide it under a bushel 
like the man who was ashamed of Christ. Nay, he 
sought to do good unto all as he had opportunity, 
and was richly rewarded by him who judges right- 
eous j udgment. 

One of Hale's acquirements deserves to be speci- 
fied as a model — he never wasted time. When 
weary with the study of law, or of divinity, he 



74 "a fruitful bough." 

turned for rest to philosophy, or mathematics, and 
thus acquired such knowledge as added many em- 
bellishments to his more solid acquirements. In no 
respect, perhaps, have the complaints of men been 
more deep or loud, after the Spirit of God has made 
them wise, than regarding mis-spent time. As 
Hale grew T up to manhood, he effectually put away 
all ground for that complaint ; and it may be safely 
said, that no man ever arrived at excellence worthy 
of the name, who did not act as Hale did. 

It was thus, then, that this eminent judge was pre- 
pared for the high position which he held, and his 
ixfe is another illustration of the truth, that " godli- 
ness has the promise of the life that now is, as well 
cs of that which is to come." As a judge, it was 
me of his maxims, " not to rest on his own under- 
standing or strength, but to implore and rest on the 
direction and strength of God ;" while another was 
— " Not to be solicitous as to what men might say 
or think, provided he kept himself exactly according 
to the rule of justice ;" and guided by these two, he 
moved onwards in the even tenor of his way, till he 
rose to one of the highest positions which a British 
subject could hold. He adorned it with unusual 
godliness, and left a memorial of his virtues, such 
as too few r have been known to leave. Like Joseph, 
4 he was a fruitful bough ; a fruitful bough by a 
well, whose branches run over the wall." 

How, then, did this devout and well trained law- 
yer reap ? We have seen how he labored during 



THE HARVEST. 75 

the seed-time of his life, and learned that sixteen 
hours each day were given to God, and to study ; 
What, then, was his reward ? Did he reap sparing - 
ly or bountifully ? Was his a meagre or a rich re- 
ward for serving God with so much assiduity 1 

When only forty-four years of age, Hale was 
raised to the bench by Oliver Cromwell, who prized 
his ability and admired his worth. In 1671, Charles 
1[. made him Lord Chief-Justice of England ; but, 
amid the engrossment of such spheres, where his 
judgments were characterized by singular equity, 
he found time to devote his great powers to God in 
yet another way. That was in preparing his " Con- 
templations," a book which evinces at once his god- 
liness and his grandeur of mind. He was, as we 
have seen, a conscientious observer of the Sabbath. 
He was as conscientious in walking in the footsteps 
of the Hebrew Captain, who said, "Whatsoever 
others may do, as for me and my house, we will 
serve the Lord." Amid these exercises, he some- 
times spent whole hours on the Sabbath in private 
devotion ; and his " Contemplations " are the fruit 
of these hours. By means of them he is still 
speaking to men— still proclaiming how much man 
may do for God when the heart is right with Him, 
and how perfectly consistent pure and undenlecl re- 
ligion of the highest order is with all the activities 
of life, or with the duties of high office as well as of 
more lowly spheres. 

But the time came when Hale must retire from 



76 THE WORLD AWED. 

public life, and the reward which he had reaped, or 
was reaping, for his godliness, then became appar- 
ent. The general satisfaction which all the kingdom 
felt at his administration of justice induced the king, 
who delighted to honor the judge, to decline receiv- 
ing the resignation of the upright and godly man, 
as long as he could be induced to hold office ; and 
soon after he had resigned, a special order from the 
king perpetuated his salary during his life. Even a 
dissolute and unprincipled monarch could not but 
reverence the man who continued unsullied amid all 
that was corrupt in his age ; and when Hale at last 
withdrew into retirement, he was followed by the 
acclamations of all. It is not always that the god- 
ly are favorites with the world, for it loves only its 
own ; but Hale was an exception — his sanctity 
awed men into respect. 

And, amid the quietude of a private sphere, he 
led a life of strict devotion, for he was one of those 
who can pray without ceasing, and who have the 
kingdom of God within them. As greatness had 
not corrupted, so decay scarcely enfeebled his soul, 
and he walked to the grave robed 

"In that fair beauty which no eye can see." 

When near the entrance to the valley of the shadow 
of death, he was known to be in habitual commu- 
nion with that world of spirits and of glory on 
which he was about to enter, and even till hoary 
hairs his God was with him. He had " carefully 



THE EULOGY. 77 

considered the poor," for he gave them the tenth of 
all his income ; and, according to the promise to 
men, " the Lord delivered him in the time of 
trouble." It is, indeed, a rare thing to find one so 
unlike the world so much lauded, yet it is recorded 
concerning Hale, that he was universally much val- 
ued and admired by men of all parties. None 
could take offence but at his justice, and anything 
spoken against him would have appeared a paradox, 
or untrue. " His name," it is added, " is scarce 
vver mentioned since his death without particular 

accents of singular respect And 

all that knew him well do still speak of him as one 
of the most perfect patterns of religion and virtue." 
In a word, his eulogy is thus pronounced by one 
who had both the means and the ability to judge : 
" Sir Matthew Hale was one of the greatest patterns 
this age has afforded, whether in his private deport- 
ment as a Christian, or in his public employments, 
either at the bar or on the bench." 

And thus briefly do we see again how sowing 
well is the sure prelude to reaping well. He who 
undertakes to be as the dew unto Israel, watches 
over the seed ; it springs up, and the fruit is unto 
holiness. In some it may bear sixty-fold, and in 
some an hundred ; but, in either case, there can be 
no lack to them that fear God as Matthew Hale so 
long and wisely feared Him. His case proclaims 
aloud that godliness the most strict, and piety the 

most practical, form no barrier in the way to sue- 
7* 



78 JUDGE HALE AND JUDGE JEFFREYS. 

cess even upon earth. Nay, even licentious men 
like Charles II. are sometimes constrained to offer 
homage to a man like Hale. They are awe-struck 
by the grandeur of such a character, though they 
may not learn to copy it, and sometimes wait to 

" Catch the rapture of his parting breath." 

From this case youth may understand, that if 
they would ascend to eminence, if they would take 
their place among the benefactors or the ornaments 
of humanity, if they would be enrolled among those 
whose memory men do not willingly let die, they 
should adopt the maxims and walk in the footsteps 
of Sir Matthew Hale. In the rich and expressive 
language of Scripture, " their barns would then be 
filled with plenty," " they would come again re- 
joicing, bringing their sheaves with them." 

But, about the same period as Matthew Hale, 
there lived another judge in England — the truculent 
Jeffreys. His atrocities are now proverbial, for his 
wholesale butcheries make the ears of them that 
hear of them to tingle. His coarse and oppressive 
treatment of those whom he had caught in his wolf- 
like grasp, is recorded to his perpetual infamy. 
The way in which he pandered to the taste of a de- 
graded royalty, betokens the despicable lowness of 
the legal assassin; in short, his name is a hissing 
and a byword in the months ' of all good men. 
Now, how instructive the contrast between Judge 
Hale and Judge Jeffreys ! The one tramples relig- 



PARADISE RESTORED. 79 

ion in the dust ; the other makes it his pole-star, 
or the man of his right hand. 

The one sacrifices men in hundreds to his brutal 
passion ; the other trembles in the sight of God lest 
he should even in his ignorance, inflict an injury 
upon any. The one is hated as a monster, and rare- 
ly mentioned but with an epithet of execration or 
ignominy; the other is held up as one of the purest 
patterns of all that is good. The one died regret- 
ted and revered by a nation ; the other was detect- 
ed when lurking in disguise, by one whom he had 
insulted, and was cast amid contumely into prison. 
Now, whence this difference in the lot of these two 
judges? Because they sowed so differently, and 
because there is a God that judgeth in the earth. 
Jeffreys sowed to his own fierce passions, and he 
reaped the whirlwind at last. Hale sowed unto 
God, and it was returned into his own bosom an 
hundred-fold increased. O, were youth to learn 
wisdom from the contrast, they would find how 
good and how pleasant it is to follow the Lord 
fully. They would discover that paradise is not 
utterly lost, or at least that, in the Saviour, its 
riches and beauty may be restored. Even here 
below they might gather the first-fruits of the 
tree whose leaves are for the healing of the na- 
tions. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE NOBLE. 



We are told in history that Plato the philosopher 
was crooked and deformed — that Aristotle had a 
stammer in his speech — that Alexander the Great 
had a wry neck and a screeching voice — and that 
their deformities or defects were often imitated by 
the flatterers of these great men. Their learning or 
their noble deeds, men, for the most part, could not 
imitate, but some peculiarity in conduct, or some 
grotesque habit, all could copy ; and there gathered 
round the men who have been mentioned, and many 
besides, a crowd of sycophants anxious to appropriate 
their very imperfections. 

We are now to invite the attention of the young 
to the case of a nobleman whose habits were too 
widely copied in his day. And even in our day, 
some may be disposed to take encouragement from 
his sins, rather than learn a lesson from his change 
of heart and habit. Yet, as men erect beacons upon 
rocks, or give warning at the approach of danger, 
we would hold up the case of a once infatuated no- 
bleman as a beacon and a warning to the young. 
We were once wandering on the banks of the Tiber. 



THE FOWLER'S SNARE. 81 

in the dreaiy Campagna to the north-west of Rome. 
From the summit of a rising ground we noticed a 
company of fowlers, plying all their wiles and all 
their ingenuity to ensnare the birds which flitted 
around them. Decoy birds, and invisible nets and 
traps, and many other devices, were employed to 
catch the prey — but the prey was wary. There 
might be some silly birds which fell into the snare, 
but the main flock always fled timorously away at 
the sight of the snares — they flitted from scene to 
scene, and left their pursuers bewildered and cha- 
grined. Now, the Bible takes up the figure and 
says, " Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight 
of any bird." It adds, "Our soul is escaped as a 
bird out of the snare of the fowler ; the snare is 
broken, and we are escaped." Will the young, then, 
flee from the snare, while we now describe one who 
was caught in it, and whose body at least perished 
miserably there ? 

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, was born in 
the year 1648. His father was a stanch friend to 
Charles II. ; he fought battles for him, and assisted 
him at last to escape into France. His family was 
in consequence high in favor with that dissolute 
monarch, when he was afterwards restored to his 
throne. 

The young earl w r as possessed of great ability : 
even in early life he was an extraordinary scholar, 
and possessed those great powers of mind which be- 
came a snare, because they were grossly perverted. 



82 THE PERILS OF A COURT. 

or even a curse, because they were not directed ac- 
cording to the holy mind of God. When young 
Rochester went to the university, he began to in- 
dulge in those habits which grew with his growth, 
and at last became his torm enter as well as the cause 
of his death. Listening to the evil which was in his 
heart, rather than the counsels of those who loved 
him, especially the counsels of his God, he soon 
plunged into sin — he sowed iniquity, he reaped 
wretchedness, and out of his sad example the young 
may learn wisdom, as Samson, according to his rid- 
dle, found honey in the carcass of the lion. 

The Earl of Rochester went early abroad to 
travel, and though some attempts were then made to 
reclaim him from the ways on which he had entered, 
they were not attended with very much success. 
On his return, in his eighteenth year, he frequented 
the court of King Charles, where his brilliant wit, 
his graceful person, with his high breeding and at- 
tainments, soon made him a favorite. One who 
knew him well has said, that had such excellent 
seeds fallen upon good ground instead of being per- 
verted by base and degrading passions, psalms and 
hymns and spiritual songs might have been the re 
suit, whereas they only helped to lay him lower than 
the beasts that perish. " I am sure," he says, " his 
gifts were but miserable comforters, since they only 
ministered to his sins, and made his example the 
more fatal and dangerous." Now, here we may 
notice what it was that confirmed the ruin of this 



THE DOWNWARD CAREER. 83 

nobleman : it was his appearance at the court of his 
king. Dazzled by the brilliance of such a scene, 
the young are ready to suppose that all happiness 
is there, that every wish must be gratified, and man 
made perfectly blessed under the smile of royalty, 
or in the shadow of a throne. But let them read 
the history of Rochester, and be undeceived. The 
court to which he went was one of the most wicked 
upon earth. Licentiousness reigned there with far 
more power than royalty. All that was decent was 
banished. Sin was reduced to a system. Guilty 
pleasures were the only pleasures known, for the 
prince and the peer vied in their excesses till virtue 
fled in disgust from their neighborhood. 

It was there, then, that young Rochester chiefly 
dwelt. For a time, indeed, he went to sea, and in 
an engagement with the Dutch he showed that his 
heroism was equal to his wickedness. Withal, 
however, he was gradually ripening in iniquity ; 
and so mad was this youth on self-indulgence, that 
he subsequently confessed to a minister of religion 
that " for five years together he was continually 
drunk : not all the while under the visible effects of 
it, but his blood was so inflamed that he was not in 
all that time cool enough to be perfectly master of 
himself." Gross sensuality, or mad aclventuies, 
often at the hazard of his life, were all the result of 
Rochester's fine accomplishments, because what God 
had given him was perverted and abased. He, 
above most men s^wed to the flesh ; his whola 



84 A MARTYR TO SIN. 

youth was like one act of shameless iniquity, and 
we shall soon see how he reaped, or how he was 
filled with the fruit of his own devices. 

No doubt, amid all this, as we read in his life, 
he had frequent intervals of sad and gloomy reflec- 
tion. Conscience was not always silent. His bones 
were not of iron, nor his sinews of brass. He could 
not always wallow in pollution without feeling de- 
graded, and some sickening hours he spent. At 
length, however, he succeeded in fortifying himself 
against all such thoughts. Religion was banished 
from his mind — nothing remained to control him ; 
and as a horse rushes into the battle, this youth 
rushed upon ruin. The king, indeed, more than 
once banished him from court, but his wit was re- 
quisite for the amusement of a monarch who was 
as licentious and criminal as that nobleman could 
be, and they were soon reconciled — they added fresh 
fuel to each other's passion, or mutually helped to 
treasure up woe. 

The biographer of Rochester tells that he could 
not describe many of his proceedings. They were 
so revolting or so offensive that he could not even 
name them ; and it must be enough to say ; that so 
confirmed was he in sin, that he sometimes nearly 
died a martyr to it. He who is a just God, and 
an holy, left him to reap as he had sowed, and he 
found it to be very bitter. But though we do not 
dwell on particular acts, we may glance at the gen- 
eral principles of this self-ruined youth. 



THE SINNER'S PORTRAIT. 85 

In regard to morality, or duty between man and 
man, Kochester confessed that he and his compan- 
ions regarded it only as a decent pretence. He 
cared not for it, and was under no restraint, or felt 
no compunction for violating the most sacred obli- 
gations that can bind man to man. Malice, revenge, 
and all that could either injure the good name, or 
pain the hearts, of others, were cultivated as if upon 
system ; and in reading the life of this profligate, 
but accomplished youth, we are forcibly reminded 
of the words of Paul — the moral portrait of the 
heart of man — " As they did not like to retain God 
in their knowledge, God gave them over to a repro- 
bate mind, to do those things which are not conve- 
nient ; being filled with all unrighteousness, fornica- 
tion, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness ; full 
of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity ; whis- 
perers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, 
boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to 
parents, without understanding, covenant-breakers, 
without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful : 
who knowing the judgment of God, that they which 
commit such things are worthy of death, not only 
do the same, but have pleasure in them that do 
them." 

So fully was that dark but truthful picture real- 
ized in this noble youth, that his sins are said to 
have been " all high, and extraordinary." He 
seemed to delight in something singular and extrav- 
agant in his impieties. He wrought iniquity " with 
8 



THE LOWEST DEEP. 



greediness," and labored systematically to corrupt 
others, as he was himself debased. Indeed, a 
glimpse at his character and moral conduct is a per- 
fect commentary on the Word of God regarding 
the height and the depth of the iniquity of man's 
heart. " This was the heightening and amazing 
circumstance of his sins," writes one who thoroughly 
knew him, ; - that he was so diligent and industrious 
to recommend and propagate them ; not like those 
of old who hated the light, but those the prophet 
mentions 4 who declare their sin as Sodom, and hide 
it not ; who take it upon their shoulders, and bind 
it to them as a crown.' He framed arguments for 
sin ; he made proselytes to it, and wrote panegyrics 
upon vice." 

So self-degraded did Rochester thus become, and 
so blinded by sin, that he lost the power of discrim- 
inating between right and wrong. Vice was so fa- 
miliar to him, that he could scarcely recognize its 
opposite, and he became among men what the vul- 
ture is said to be among birds — it banquets upon 
carrion, but sickens at a perfume. All checks 
upon sin the most gross and licentious " he thought 
unreasonable impositions upon the freedom of man- 
kind." 

And as these were his views of duty from man 
to man, what were his views of the creature's duty 
to the Creator 1 He deemed it all a pretence. He 
thought that studying a problem in Euclid, or writ- 
ing poetry, or any similar exercise of mind, would 



THE UNKNOWN GOD. 87 

do men as much good as prayer, or communion 
with God, or other things which enter into true re- 
ligion, that is, the religion which God's Holy Spirit 
teaches. 

Rochester confessed, indeed, that they were hap- 
py who felt such impressions as religion produces. 
But as he thought of God only " as a vast power," 
and not as a Heavenly Father, a Counsellor, and 
Friend, he never felt the blessedness of resting upon 
Him. God was an unknown God to this deluded 
youth ; and his very religion, if we may apply that 
title to it, was a lie. " To love God seemed to him 
a presumptuous thing," and need we say more to 
show the very youngest mind how deep were the 
delusions into which this gifted nobleman had sunk? 
Too true it is, 

" His time of power was spent 

In idly watering weeds." 

But Lord Rochester's last years were spent in 
yet more systematic efforts to do what was equiva- 
lent to self-ruin. Versed as he was in the secret 
mysteries of sin, he strove to efface every vestige 
of the pure. Poems which were disgusting — satires 
where malice and hatred against all that is lovely 
and of good report were rife — collections of pictures 
in his abode which we cannot venture to character- 
ize — these were among the means which this pro- 
fane man employed to corrupt all whom he could 
influence. Nay, on one occasion he adopted a still 



88 THE ATHEIST CONVICTED. 

bolder course. Not satisfied with corrupting his 
fellow-men, he proceeded to blaspheme, or to deny 
his God ; but his own words shall describe the 
scene : — " At an atheistical meeting at a person of 
quality's, I undertook," he says, "to manage the 
cause, and was the principal disputant against God 
and piety, and for my performances received the 
applause of the whole company, upon which my 
mind was terribly struck, and I immediately replied 
thus to myself : — ' Good God ! that a man that 
walks upright, and sees the wonderful works of 
God, and has the use of his senses and reason, 
should use them to the defying of his Creator !" ' 
The blasphemy involved in such a course was too 
nuch even for Lord Rochester, and an outraged 
conscience recoiled appalled at what was done. 

Such, then, was the early life of this gifted but 
dissolute nobleman. Sin in every form was his de- 
light. Evil was the only good that he knew. For 
the sake of an earthly monarch's smile, or the ap- 
plause of a fellow-sinner, he took pains to promote 
his own wretchedness and ruin. Plunging into the 
vortex of sin, he dragged others along with him. 
Without restraint, and without a check, he drank 
up iniquity as the ox drinks up water. 

But having seen how Rochester sowed, let us 
next consider how he reaped. We have examined 
his work — look next at his wages. We have heard 
him denying his God — did he perpetrate that an<! 
prosper 1 






THE REAPING-TIME. 89 

Nay, his reaping -time began quite early, and 
never was there a better illustration of these words 
of truth, " What a man sows, that shall he also 
reap." The horror which sometimes seized upon 
him, even amid his wicked courses, gave too sure a 
token of what was in store ; and though he rushed 
the more on that account into sin, he was taught to 
feel that fighting against God and wretchedness are 
but different names for the same thing. Great re- 
morse sometimes preyed upon him, and when sick- 
ness came, and dragged him from the whirl of in- 

■ So 

dulged passion in which he lived, he felt the agony 
of such ways as his. He tried, indeed, to flee from 
solemn thought, but it haunted and overpowered 
him. He was made " ashamed of his former prac- 
tices, rather because he had made himself a beast, 
and had brought pain and sickness on his body, and 
had suffered much in his reputation, than from any 
deep sense of a Supreme Being, or another state." 
" The folly and madness of vice" now became too 
apparent : it was like a fire in his bones, wasting and 
consuming him. He was now convinced that there 
is a God, for he felt the grasp of that God upon 
him. He was beset by many diseases, the result 
of many sins — he was racked by pain — at times he 
was tortured by remorse, and confessed, at length, 
that " he would give all he is master of," could he 
enjoy the solace w^hich the religious possess. He 
had travelled the whole circle -of what the world 
calls pleasure. He had drained the cup which real- 
8* 



90 THE PRODIGAL RETURNING. 

izecl the fable of Circe, and turned him into a beast : 
" Whatsoever his eyes desired, he kept not from 
them, and withheld his heart from no joy." But 
when he looked back on time mis-spent — on the 
body wasted, and the soul entombed in iniquity, he 
saw that impiety is as hostile to man and society, 
as wild beasts let loose on them would be ; and 
though his body was racked with extreme pain for 
weeks together, Rochester confessed that the agonies 
of his mind sometimes swallowed up the sense of 
bodily suffering. " All the pleasures he had ever 
known in sin," we quote again, " were not worth 
that torture he had felt in his mind." The horrors, 
in short, through which he passed were as deep as 
his pleasures had been exciting — the religion which 
he had formerly despised became an object of anx- 
ious search at last — that is, in the evil day he began 
to consider — " O blessed God, can such a horrid 
creature as I am be accepted of Thee — who has de- 
nied thy being, and contemned thy power V " Can 
there be mercy and pardon for me ? Will God 
own such a wretch as If These were some of this 
deluded man's exclamations, when he began to feel 
the misery which ever clings to sin. Nay more \ 
the convicted voluptuary — the man who, according 
to the Word of God, " drew sin with a cart-rope" — 
was heard " crying out that he was the vilest wretch 
and dog that the sun shined upon, or the earth 
bore :" he " wished he had been a starving leper, 
crawling in a ditch ; that he had been a link-boy or 



A MONUMENT OF MERCY. tfl 

a beggar, rather than to have sinned against God as 
he had done." "The language of fiends, which was 
so familiar to me, hangs yet about me," was his sad 
confession. A premature old age, with crowding 
diseases, crept over him, so that one who might 
have been one of the glories of his age was one of 
its greatest reproaches — so corrupted, so debased 
had he become. 

To the praise of the glory of the grace of God, 
the Earl of Rochester became a monument of 
mercy, a brand plucked from the burning. The 
fifty-third chapter of Isaiah was the portion of the 
Word of God which first found its way to the con- 
science and the heart of this misguided profligate, 
and it came upon him with a power which he could 
not resist.* But that brand bore through life the 
marks of the fire ; and Rochester passed into eter- 
nity, humbled to the dust at the remembrance of 
what he had been — of mercies abused — of God for- 
gotten — and a Redeemer blasphemed. 

But perhaps his own words to one who came to 
visit him on his death-bed will enable the young 
most easily to see into his heart. " O remember 
that you contemn God no more," he passionately 
exclaimed. " He is an avenging God, and will visit 
you for your sins : He will, in mercy, I hope, touch 
your conscience sooner or later, as He has done 

* The young should read the Life and Death of the Earl 
of Rochester, by Bishop Burnet. The death-bed of the 
penitent is there described in a very instructive way, 



92 



A DEATH-BED WARNING. 



mine. You and I have been friends and sinners to- 
gether a great while, and I am the more free with 
you. We have been all mistaken in our conceit? 
and opinions. Our persuasions must be false and 
groundless ; therefore God grant you repentance. 5 '* 
" Our persuasions must be false and groundless." 
— These, as we have just seen, were the words of 
this penitent to his former companion in guilt, and 
will they not, sooner or later, be the words of every 
sinner 1 Here surely is a preacher whose words 
cannot be mistaken. His brow is encircled by a 
coronet. Wit sparkles in all he says. He is the 
centre of a wide circle of admiring followers. His 
very king depends upon him for mirth — he cannot 
be happy if Rochester be long absent. But does 
all that make Rochester himself happy 1 Is it 
enough to bask in the smile of a king, or stand at 
the right hand of a throne ? Ah no ! As soon as 
Rochester's sin finds him out — that is, as soon as he 
knows his true condition — racking pain, the agony 
of remorse, together with the pangs of bodily dis- 
ease, take hold of him, and he finds only labor and 
sorrow. How different now from the man of pleas- 
ure, who seemed to be born only to enjoy ! A dis- 

* In Rochester's day. Popery was making keen struggles 
tc throw back the Reformation. The profligate court of 
Charles II. was just the hot-bed in which that system 
would grow. And nothing is more remarkable than Ro- 
chester's hatred of Popery as soon as he felt what sin is, 
and the danger of perdition because of it. 



A VOICE FROM THE TOMB. 93 

mantled wreck — tossed upon the heaving waters — 
a melancholy moral ruin — that was the Earl of Ro- 
chester, in the thirty-third year of his age. And 
never, among the sons of men, never was there one 
whose history more plainly proves the connection 
between sin and misery — between sowing to self, in 
defiance of God's merciful warning, and reaping the 
wretchedness wdiich must result from man's conflict 
with the Almighty. He went down to the grave 
prematurely aged, and, as to the body, self-destroy- 
ed. His vintage yielded only the grapes of Go- 
morrah, or the apples of Sodom. 

But we close our lessons for the young from the 
life of this greatly deluded man, with his dying re- 
monstrance, formally attested, subscribed, and ad- 
dressed to his former companions in guilt : — 

" For the benefit of all those," he sc^Lmnly says, 
" whom I may have drawn into sin by my example 
and encouragement, I leave to the world this my 
last declaration, which I deliver in the presence of 
the great God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, 
and before whom I am now preparing to be 
judged — 

" That from the bottom of my soul I detest and 
abhor the whole course of my former wicked life. 

" That I think I can never sufficiently admire the 
goodness of God, who has given me a true sense of 
my pernicious opinions and vile practices, by which 
I have hitherto lived without hope and without God 
in the world, have been an open enemy to Jesus 



94 A VOICE FROM THE TOMB. 

Christ, doing the utmost despite to the Holy Spirit 
of grace. 

" And that the greatest testimony of my love to 
such is to warn them, in the name of God, and as 
they regard the welfare of their immortal souls, no 
more to deny his being, or his providence, or de- 
spise his goodness ; no more to make a mock of 
sin, or contemn the pure and excellent religion of 
my ever-blessed Eedeemer ; through whose merits 
alone, I, one of the greatest sinners, do yet hope 
for mercy and forgiveness. Amen." 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE SOLDIER. 



When walking over the field of Bannockburn or 
Waterloo, it is not difficult even for an inexperienced 
eye, to discover where the battle must have raged 
most fiercely, or where blood must have flowed in 
greatest abundance. In regard to Bannockburn, 
once discover the standard stone, with the castle 
of Stirling, to be kept from the English, who are 
marching from the south, and all is easy. There 
is the king's seat ; from that spot King Edward 
surveyed the battle-field, as chosen by Bruce, and 
issued his commands. And there is the level 
ground, then a morass, on the edge of which an 
English detachment under Clifford was discomfited 
by Randolph. Yonder is the spot where Bruce, 
on his palfrey, cleft the skull of Bohun through the 
helmet, and broke his royal battle-axe by the blow. 
And along that valley stretched the main struggle. 
There are the Bloody Faulds — the name still given 
to the place where the battle was the hottest. All 
around, in short, are the scenes amid which a 
brave but oppressed people struggled for freedom, 



96 WAR. 

and by a strong right arm, and indomitable will, 
made it good against tremendous odds. 

Yet in wandering over such scenes, and medi- 
tating on the results of such a contest, one can 
scarcely help asking the question, — Is war ever jus- 
tifiable at all 1 Was Bannockburn — was Flodden- 
field — was Blenheim— was Waterloo — were a thou- 
sand other struggles really defensible, wdien the 
principles of eternal truth are the standard by 
which we judge ? Though we are not prepared to 
aver that there never was a just war, — that circum- 
stances never occurred to warrant a people boldly 
to assert and bravely to maintain their rights — we 
need not scruple to say, that however just may war 
have been in its rise, it was carried on amid crime, 
and accompanied with what was neither more nor 
less than murder. All wars of aggression — all 
struggles for ascendency — all attempts to compel 
the weak, at the point of the sword, to submit to 
the strong, are manifestly unjust — they are robbery 
and pillage on a national scale. But even where 
war is defensible, or where a vaiid pretext for wag- 
ing it exists, it is accompanied by crimes, and fol- 
lowed by results, which may well cause the bravest 
to weep ; it is conducted amid such outbreaks of 
fiendish passion, and so deepens all that is malig- 
nant in the mind of man, that he who holds the 
Word of God in his nand, or has the love of his 
fellow-men in his heart, will long for the time when 
men shall beat their swords into ploughshares, their 



COLONEL BLACKADDER. 97 

spears into pruning hooks, and learn the art of war 
no more. 

Youth, for the most part, are captivated by the 
pomp and circumstance of war. Certain fishes of 
the deep are said to be caught by a fragment of red 
cloth as a bait, and the young are often as silly as 
they. But to make the young more wise, we are 
now to lead them through the life of a soldier — of 
one who was competent to judge of war, for he had 
experience on the one hand, and the Word of God 
in the other, to guide his judgment. Colonel John 
Blackadder was a brave soldier ; how then did he 
sow, and how did he reap, upon his battle-fields % 

He was born on the 14th of September, 1664, 
and was early impressed with religion. His father 
was a minister who suffered for his adherence to the 
truth, and the boy, nursed amid hardships, learned 
to prize w r hat made his father a persecuted wan- 
derer. That boy was admitted to the Lord's Table 
when he was only twelve years of age, and though 
little is known of his history from that period to his 
twenty-fifth year, his own diary of a future period 
refers us back to his boyhood, and tells of the warm 
and lively religious affections which characterized 
his early religion. 

In the year 1689, young Blackadder entered the 
army. For twenty-eight years before the revolu- 
tion of 1688, Scotland had been the scene of bitter 
persecution. Perverted law and violated rights — 
the excellent of the earth butchered — the young and 
9 



98 PERSECUTIONS. 

the old hunted like wild beasts on the mountains — 
bodily tortures inflicted — estates forfeited — exile and 
imprisonment endured — and death at the hands of 
legalized tyrants, were the peculiarities of that pe- 
riod, during which our forefathers had to glorify 
God in the fires. But the worst woe of all was that 
which threatened the nation with the re-establish- 
ment of Popery, under a Popish king. Men con- 
templated that prospect with horror, for behind the 
throne of such a monarch they saw only the chains 
of slavery, the instruments of torture and death, 
with the extinction of what many prized more high- 
ly than life — the Word of the living God. In more 
peaceful times, men, especially the young and inex- 
perienced, cannot estimate aright the trials of our 
fathers amid those bloody scenes. The mountain- 
side — the dungeon — the great deep — the land of ex- 
ile — the battle-field — and the scaffold, could all at- 
test-in what countless forms suffering and death as- 
sailed those who would not make man the Lord of 
conscience — who would not take their religion from 
a fellow-creature — or place him on the throne of 
God over all. 

The banished king of Great Britain, a bigoted 
Papist, was plotting for his return to our land. In 
league with France, he tried to restore superstition, 
and with it mental slavery, again. But our fathers 
would not quietly submit to be robbed of their 
Bibles and their faith. Thousands of Presbyterians 
hastened to defend what they held so dear, and a 



THE CAMERONIANS. 99 

regiment of eight hundred men, called the Came- 
ronians, was of the number. It was laised in a 
single day, without one beat of the drum, and the 
conditions on which the soldiers were enlisted de- 
serve to be noticed. The officers were to be men 
of right principle, who had not helped in former 
cimes to destroy the truth which was now to be up- 
held ; the regiment was to be employed in defence 
of the Protestant religion, if assailed by Papists, 
and of liberty if invaded by arbitrary power, either 
m the shape of Popery or Prelacy. 

It -was in this regiment that young Blackadder 
served, so that he was there an officer avowedly for 
the defence of the truth, should it be again endan- 
gered. The house of Stuart, in their furious zeal 
for arbitrary power, had trampled on all that was 
sacred, so that every patriot then reckoned freedom 
and the exile of the Stuarts synonymous. " The 
downfall of the French tyrant and of Antichrist," 
was the object of Blackadder's earnest prayer, for 
he felt that if France and Rome, which were then in 
league, were weakened, men's souls would be com- 
paratively safe. To help, then, to defend religion 
and liberty, that youth was enrolled as an officer of 
the Cameronians, and what was his experience as a 
soldier ? 

He was engaged with his regiment in three cam- 
paigns, during the years 1702 and 1703, and was 
mercifully preserved amid many clangers. But it 
was in the year 1704 that some of the most remark- 



100 A GOOD SOLDIER OF CHRIST. 

able events of his life took place, and Blackaddei 
entered on that year in the spirit which the follow- 
ing passage from his diary describes : — " I resolv- 
ed," he says, " to spend my time better, so that 1 
may have peace in it, and serve God more cheer- 
fully ; to trust in him, and cast all my cares upon 
him ; not to be anxious or careful about anything, 
but by faith and prayer to interest Him in it. Lord 
give me grace to live so" — and he felt the blessed- 
ness of thus trusting in God, at the commencement 
of eventful times. Before entering on active ser- 
vice, this brave soldier set apart half a day, to hum- 
ble himself in the prospect of a new campaign ; to 
east himself and those who were dear to him upon 
God, and to depend on him for grace and strength, 
for counsel and conduct to guide him at every step. 
It was not his sword that secured the victory, it was 
the Lord of hosts who gave him might. 

And it shows how watchful this soldier was over 
his own soul, to know that even amid the tumult 
of marching with his regiment from one field of 
battle to another, he was constant in the exercise of 
private devotion. He withdrew for retirement and 
meditation as often as he could, and when these 
could not be enjoyed, he kept the way to the throne 
of grace open by short ejaculations of prayer. " I 
think this is the great secret of Christianity," he 
says, " whereby a spiritual heat of soul is kept up, 
and communion with God and his Spirit cherished 
and maintained." " Lord Jesus, be thou the shadow 



A CHRISTIAN HERO. lOl 

of a great rook in a weary land to mo." " Marching 
all clay; kept alone and retired my thoughts for 
prayer and meditation as much as I could, among 
such a crew, and was serene and spiritual," 
;i Marching and expecting to come to action, com- 
mitted myself and all that concerns me into the 
hands of God*' — such are some of the recorded 
feelings of this devout man, amid dangers which 
often appal the stoutest. He kept close to the Al- 
mighty defender, and felt that he was in safety 
there. 

But we can study Blackadder's character amid 
yet more stirring scenes. During some pause in a 
battle, he once wrote to a lady at Stirling : — " I am 
just now retired from the noise of drums, of oaths, 
and dying groans. I am to return in a few minutes 
to the field of battle, and wrapping myself up in 
the arms of Omnipotence, I believe myself no less 
safe, as to any valuable purpose, than if sitting in 
your ladyship's closet." These lines were written 
while the battle of Blenheim was raging, and evince 
at once the courage of the true hero, and the secret 
of his heroism. The Lord is a sun and shield, and 
under that protection, Blackadcler was as safe as in 
the most serene retirement. He says, " I was en- 
abled to exercise faith, relying and encouraging my- 
self in God. By this I was made easy and cheerful. 
i was looking to God during all the little intervals of 
action, for assistance to keep up my own heart, and 
to discharge my duty well in my station ;" and if 
9* 



102 BLENHEIM OUDENARD. 

that spirit was common in that bloody war, we ma\ 
cease to wonder at the victory of Blenheim. 

In that action Blackadder was wounded in the 
throat: but even in that respect, he says, " The Lord 
is a shield and buckler unto me." " Had the wound 
been naif an men either to one side or the other, it 
might have proved mortal or dangerous." And sim- 
ilar goodness was elsewhere experienced. At the 
battle of Oudenard, Blackadder was posted in a posi- 
tion from which he could not move, exposed to the 
enemy's fire, and yet forbidden to return a single 
shot. Even there, however, he " enjoyed peace and 
tranquillity, his God supplied him with everything 
needful on the occasion," "My thoughts ran 
much," he writes, " on the hundred and third Psalm, 
which I sang repeatedly on the march. Our regi- 
ment was not properly engaged in attacking ; but, 
what was worse, w r e were obliged to stand in cold 

blood, exposed to the enemy's shot I 

was sometimes engaged in prayer — sometimes in 
praise — sometimes for the public — sometimes for 
myself." At the siege of Lisle also, where his dan- 
ger was as great, he was kept in similar peace s 
Before taking up his position, he read some pas- 
sages of Scripture applicable to a case like his. 
The words addressed to Joshua, — " Have not J 
commanded thee? Be strong, and of good courage; 
ne not afraid, neither be thou dismayed : for the 
Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest " 
— the language used on another occasion,—" They 



THE ARMOR OF GOD. 103 

cried to God in the battle, and he was entreated of 
them because they put their trust in him " — the no- 
ble expressions of David, — u The Lord is my rock, 
my fortress, my deliverer, my God, my strength in 
whom I will trust ;" or, " Through God we shall do 
valiantly, for it is he that shall tread down our ene- 
mies " — were some portions of the Word which a 
once animated and consoled this soldier. Nor were 
other encouragements withheld. While walking in 
his chamber in a cloister, on the eve of action, his 
eye chanced to rest on a coat of arms above the 
mantel-piece. The motto was, " Deus fortitudo inea" 
— " God is my courage." He assumed the motto 
for his own, and " was strengthened and encouraged 
in the Lord." 

At the battle of Malplaauet, Colonel Blackadder 
perienced similar protection, and was kept in simi- 
lar peace. Though his regiment was cannonaded, 
and suffered severely, and though that day was one 
of the most bloody in the history of war, he says, 
" For my own part, I was nobly and richly sup- 
plied, as I have always been on such occasions, w T ith 
liberal supplies of grace and strength, as the occa- 
sions of the day called for them. I never had a 
more pleasant day in my life ; my mind was stay- 
ed, and trusting in God, I had perfect peace; all 
went well with me; and not being in hurry, and 
hot action, I had time for plying the throne of 
grace." "Take thou the glory, O Lord, to thyself!" 
is his exclamation. " Not unto us : it was not our 



104 



THE BATTLE-FIELD. 



bow, but it was the Lord's doing."— Popery was to 
have been inflicted again on the nations, especially 
on Britain, and by means like these it was prevented. 
For that end Colonel Blackadder did his duty as a 
soldier, and waited on the Lord of hosts for strength. 

It was the common practice of this Christian hero 
to visit the field of battle soon after any engage- 
ment in which he had fought, and his meditations 
there are full of interest. To lie upon the field dur- 
ing the night after a conflict, as Blackadder dia 
after the battle of Oudenard, is one of the most sol- 
emn positions which a child of the dust can occupy. 
When the tumult has ceased, and the silence of 
night succeeded to the roar, and the clamor, and the 
rush, and the wild huzza of the battle ; when the 
stillness is broken only by the groans of the dying, 
or the imprecations of the agonized as their wounds 
and mangled limbs grow stiff, or when the distant 
and random gun of a retreating army is heard, the 
scene is one of the most appalling kind — it might 
well disenchant the lovers of war, and conquest, and 
bloodshed, were their hearts not steeled against 
such appeals. But Blackadder sought such scenes, 
that he might see into war's very heart, and his 
comments are instructive. 

After the battle of Donawert, on the Danube, lie 
says, " In the evening I went into the field of battle, 
and got a preaching from the dead. The carcasses 
were very thickly strewed upon the ground, naked 
and corrupted : yet all this makes no impression on 



MISERABLE COMFORTERS. 105 

us, though we see our comrades' and friends' bodies 
lying as dung upon the earth. Lord, make me 
humble and thankful." 

On a similar occasion, he writes : " 0, I wonder 
at the sottish stupidity of men of our trade ; they 
see their comrades, with whom they used to drink 
and debauch, plucked out ot the world in a mo- 
ment, yet ha\e not so much as a thought that they 
have a soul, or what will become of them when 
they die. O Lord, I shall always look on impiety 
and refusing Christ as the greatest madness ; the 
longer I live I see the greater need of holiness. To 
behol 3 a poor creature on a death-bed," — he refers 
to the spectacle of the wounded dying in hospitals 
f.ft'er a battle, — " on the brink of eternity, afraid to 
quit hold of all earthly comforts, nothing but horror 

surrounded with jolly company, 

miserable comforters, is very affecting. Then to 
get a view of Christ, O how precious ! Then to see 
a Saviour stretching out his hand to receive the 
soul, is worth a thousand worlds." On one occa- 
sion, three of Blackadder's friends fell in the same 
action — "in the morning, &il three w^ere full of 
health and spirits — at nignt they were buried at the 
colors." There are hearts wmch can resist all such 
appeals, or even turn them into stimulants for more 
determined sm, bu»t BiaeKadcLer's heart was not one 
of these. He saw that the British soldiers were 
■' the most heaven-daring sinners in the army," but 
he tried not to be a partaker in +l?eir sins, and it 



106 MISERABLE COMFORTERS. 

was to keep his heart humble, and his conscience 
tender, that he went to hear the voice of God ut- 
tered by the dead. " That," he said on one occa- 
sion, " might have been edifying, for in all my life 
I have not seen the dead lie so thick as they were in 
some places about the intrenchments ; . 
for a good way I could not go amongst them, lest 
my horse should tread the carcasses that were lying 
heaped on one another." That his conscience was 
kept tender amid these scenes, appears from what 
follows : " The Lord of hosts is the God of battles, 
and has preserved me many times there ; he is also 
the God of sieges, and has preserved me as won- 
derfully there ; I desire to put my trust in Him." 
And then he says, addressing his wife, who w r as at a 
distance, " When you grow anxious and thoughtful, 
take my riddled hat and hang it up before you, and 
trust in God who hath delivered, and doth daily de- 
liver, and in whom I trust that he will yet deliver." 
That was the man who set apart seasons for humili- 
ation and prayer even amid the din of battles ; who 
retired, even amid its havoc, to commune with his 
God ; who sang psalms on the march to the field, 
and travelled in spirit to the throne of grace even 
while the work of death was raging around him. 

And such is a glimpse of what may be regarded 
as the sowing-time of this man's life. In early years 
we have seen that the good seed was committed to 
his mind — we have watched its growth, its bloom, 
and maturity — let us turn next to the autumn of 



REPOSE IN GOD. 107 

his life, and inquire whether his harvest was stinted 
or ample. 

After some vexatious delays, Blackaclder was 
promoted in the army, and it might have appeared 
to those to whom promotion was the terminus of 
their ambition, that now all was well ; but this hero 
found it to be otherwise. He soon discovered that 
elevation in rank brought only an increase of re- 
sponsibility and labor. His time for retirement 
and communion with God was now diminished by 
the pressure of other claims. His necessary official 
intercourse with godless men of rank deadened and 
distressed him. After dining with the Duke of 
Marlborough, the general of the army, Blackadder's 
conscience forced him to write — Ci O Lord, wash 
and cleanse me from the filth which I contract in 
this wicked army, among vicious men, and filthy, 
idle conversation. I flee to the mercy of God in 
Christ, and to the blood of Christ for washing, for 
repentance, and for remission of sin. O deliver me 
out of these snares." In other words, this man had 
been advanced for his services. He was on the 
way to still higher rank, and had become the com- 
panion of princes ; yet so debasing were the scenes 
through which he had to pass, so corrupting his in- 
tercourse with men who knew no pure principle, 
and were urged onward mainly by the demon of 
war, that he pined for an escape from such pollu- 
tion. He saw that camps and armies are not the 
scenes where souls are trained for true glory, true 



108 THE BELIEVER'S BURDEN. 

honor and immortality ; and scarcely had Blackad- 
der approached the rank of a general-officer, when 
he began to be anxious to be freed from its bond- 
age. As a Christian, he could not continue there, 
except at the bidding of necessity. In communion 
with God, he could still be blessed. He poured out 
his heart to him, and resorted from day to day to 
the fountain opened for sin, but he was not reaping 
as the believer reaps. " Alas !" he exclaims, " we 
forget that it is Sabbath, for there is nothing like it 
to be seen, but the contrary, as if we w r ere in hell — 
nothing around us but the voice of incarnate devils 
cursing and blaspheming." Referring to his own 
forgetfulness of God, he says, " How can it be oth- 
erwise, living in this army, where there is so much 
to choke the growth of grace, and so little to 
strengthen it. O Lord, pity me ; thou knowest 
what is best for me." 

Such, then, was wdiat this believer reaped from 
his harcl-fought battles. " Cursing, swearing, drunk- 
enness, robbing, thieving, mutiny." " Vexed again 
with the immorality and scandal committed by 
some in the society." " O Lord, thou knowest that 
a battle would not be so terrible to me as this day 
(among profligates) has been ; but thou seest this 
trial needful for me." " A sad day, liker a hell 
than a Sabbath." " This is one of the greatest hard- 
ships of my employment, to be tied to such things." 
" I am not afraid for dangers and battles, through 
Thee I shall do valiantly. I am more afraid of the 



THE MISERY OF THE SOLDIER. 109 

snares and sins of the wretched company I must be 
chained to ; but thy grace, O Lord, can make me 
escape that pollution." " Sabbath — Dining in com- 
pany : I wish I had rather dined on bread and water 
than been in conversation so foreign to a Sabbath.' 7 

"This is a sad employment O, how 

do I hate evil company the more I am in it. It is 
hell to me ; I cannot live in it. What do I, then, in 
the army, where the scum and dregs of mankind 
are gathered together % My soul is weary of the 
tents of sin." — Such are the records which meet us. 
in page after page of Blackadder's diary ; and while 
they show us the secrets of his soul on the one hand, 
they show us the ungodliness of a soldier's life on 
the other. Had he been one of those who have no 
fear of God before their eyes, who regard not his 
Sabbaths, who glory in their shame, who take pleas- 
ure in iniquity, and who drink it up as the ox 
drinks water, he w T ould never have had reason to 
exclaim, " this is not my element," — it would have 
been a congenial and a pleasing employment. But 
knowing that he had a God to meet and a soul to 
save — that sin was the source of wretchedness — the 
germ of misery forever — Blackadder felt its touch 
to be pollution : he panted and he prayed for an 
escape from its perils and perdition. He was able 
to tear off the mask from war, and show it in its 
native ugliness, hideous as death, and hateful be- 
cause developing all that is vile and malignant in 
man. Religion made this calm and intrepid soldier 



110 A DUEL. 

braver still upon the battle-field. It kept him in 
peace even there. It made conscience tender. It 
taught him to fear God, and call his day " honor- 
able." It trained him to live by faith, and enduie 
as seeing God who is invisible ; but just on that ac- 
count it made war an offence, and showed the men 
who are called conquering heroes, and applauded as 
such by the world, to be too often the ministers of 
a demon whose food is the blood of men. Black- 
adder entered the army, convinced in his conscience 
that he was taking up arms to vindicate the rights 
of his country, and save his religion from the grasp 
of a despot, Louis XIV. of France, and of a bigot, 
James II. of England ; but when he saw how these 
objects were promoted, and how T godless were the 
men side by side with whom he fought, he grew T 
wear}' of their contaminating neighborhood, and as 
soon as he could with honor, he retired from a life 
which had disgusted him. 

But we have not yet unmasked all that is revolt- 
ing in the scenes amid which Blackadder lived. At 
one period, which cannot now be fixed, he was com- 
pelled to fight a duel, and his antagonist fell. Black- 
adder was the challenged party, on account of some 
offence which he had given in conversation. He 
strove to explain his words, he professed his readi- 
ness to make any proper apology, or any concession 
or reparation which the other party had a right to 
demand. But, deaf to every argument, his chal 
Vnger rushed against him, while he retreated and 



CHARACTER RETRIEVED. Ill 

expostulated. All, however, was unavailing. His 
antagonist would have blood. Blackadder at last 
drew his sw T ord, and his assailant fell. He was tried 
by a court-martial, but acquitted, because, as the 
witnesses proved, he had fought only in self-defence. 
Now, that was another result of his military life. 
It was a sad sowing-time for Blackadder — a day too 
solemn to be soon forgotten ; and " the anniversary 
of it was observed during all his future life, as a clay 
of fasting and prayer." 

At a subsequent period he was challenged by an- 
other enemy, but refused to fight. In consequence 
of that refusal, he was to be posted as a coward — 
the usual charge against a man who fears God too 
much to trample on his laws by murdering a fellow 
creature. But Blackadder silenced that imputation 
by applying to the Duke of Marlborough for the 
post of danger in an impending battle. He was 
sent to that post, and not merely retrieved his good 
name as a brave soldier, but did what was more — 
he established his character as that of one who 
could face an enemy, but would not commit a mur- 
der under the disguise of a duel. 

After long delay, Blackadder retired from the ar- 
my, which had become to him an intolerable bur- 
den. He had reached a high rank. The Duke of 
Marlborough spoke loudly in his praise as a soldier. 
In action he had never faltered. For two-and-twen- 
ty years of hot warfare, God had hidden him in the 
hollow of his hand ; but while still comparatively 



112 THE APPROACH OF DEATH. 

young, he abandoned all, for he felt that his soul 
was exposed to perils which man's power could not 
avert, and for which a diadem could not compen- 
sate. But what he could not find in the army, he 
did fiud to the full in his retirement at Craigforth. 
He had still sometimes to contend with " the ene 
mies to God and his cause," but he had peace with 
conscience and with God, and was honored in vari- 
ous ways to advance the best interests of men. He 
was not without his reward in regard to this life, for 
he was made deputy-governor of Stirling Castle, 
and honored in other ways. But his earnest prayer 
was largely answered, " O, to be living as a stran- 
ger and a pilgrim in sight of death, judgment, and 
eternity," and when death did approach, in the 
sixty-fifth year of his age, " he was upheld and 
comforted by the prospect of an eternal weight of 
glory." " The brave soldier and the devout Chris- 
tian," as his epitaph describes him, rested from his 
labors in the hope of a happy hereafter. " I cannot 
say my affections are lively," he observed on his 
deathbed ; "but I hope I have got a discovery of the 
matchless love of God, and of Christ shedding his 
precious blood for the remission of sin !" He had 
exclaimed, many years before his life drew near its 
clos^, " O what a happy life a life of faith is !" "O 
how do I admire the goodness of God to me, that I 
am so easy, serious, and cheerful !" Again and 
again he blesses God who " kept him in perfect 
peace," even on the field of battle ; and now that the 



THE REWARD OF THE WORLL. 113 

last enemy and the last struggle have come, victory 
is sure — it is easy. Like a shock of corn fully ripe 
he was gathered into the garner of the Lord, and 
joy " came in the morning " — he was satisfied when 
he awoke in the likeness of his God. His courage, 
his success in life — all, in short, that he had, was re- 
ligiously traced up to the goodness of his God, and 
that goodness did not desert him in the valley of 
the shadow of death. 

It was under the Duke of Marlborough, we have 
seen, that Blackadder served, and we do not know 
a better mode of showing the young the blessed- 
ness of " sowing to the Spirit," that is, of leading a 
holy life, than by contrasting the termination of 
Marlborough's career with that of Blackadder. 
At the close of his most brilliant campaign, the 
hero of Blenheim had reason to feel how worth- 
less were all the honors which he had won. He 
had risen to the highest position which a subject 
could hold. A palace — one of the most splendid in 
Britain — had been built for him by a nation which 
delighted to honor him ; but after all, he was pros- 
ecuted by the Attorney-general for misapplying the 
public money ! The House of Commons petition- 
ed the Queen to remove him from the command of 
the army, and from all his public offices. The 
Queen complied. Marlborough became in effect a 
degraded man, and afterwards spent several years 
in a kind of exile, in the land where he had acquir- 
ed what men call glory ; and even when he return- 
10* 



114 THE CHOICE. 

ed to his country, after the party who disliked him 
had fallen, " his sun went down amid the clouds of 
imbecility and dotage." Blackadder's, on the other 
hand, set amid a brilliance which increased as the 
evening of his clays wore on. Yet, bright as it was, 
it was shadow and gloom to the portion which 
awaited him in that land which has " no need of the 
sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it : for the glo- 
ry of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the 
light thereof." 

Now, let the young especially the young who are 
vainly expecting happiness in a profession whose 
business is bloodshed, look on this picture, and on 
that. Seeing that they must die, which death would 
they prefer? A death at peace with God? or a 
death where all is gloom 1 

Which life would they prefer ? for it is the man- 
ner of our life that must decide the result of our 
death. The life of faith, of which Blackadder ar- 
dently said, " O how blessed it is "? Or that life to 
which faith is a stranger, and God an unknown God 1 






CHAPTER X. 



THE PHILOSOPHER. 



61 Men are but children of a larger growth ;•' and 
M The child is father to the man." — Such are two 
sayings which are often quoted, and which are as 
true as they are popular. That men are too often 
but children, at least in their reasonings regarding 
religion, is proved by the opinions which multitudes 
hold. 

They think that they may be happy though they 
live in sin ; that is, men have deluded themselves 
into the strange conviction, that they can extract 
happiness from what wraps up misery in it, here and 
forever. 

They think that God will prove untrue, and be 
neither so holy nor so just as his word proclaims 
him to be. 

They think that they can control their own des- 
tinies — their question is, " Who is the Lord, that 
we should obey him ?" They will not permit the 
King Eternal to do according to his will in the 
armies of heaven and among the inhabitants of earth. 
They murmur against his sovereign awards, and 
are surprised when He compels them to " be still, 



116 JONATHAN EDWARDS. 

and know that he is God." They repeat the words, 
" Thy will be done," but they are amazed when the 
w 7 ill of God, and not their own, must become their 
law. 

But we are now to glance at the history of one 
who did much to free men from these delusions, 
and make them the willing subjects of the King of 
kings. Jonathan Edwards was born in the ytar 
1703, and his early training and habits were such 
as to afford a presage of what he afterwards be- 
came. He was tended, from his earliest years, with 
no common care, by parents wdio were as eminent 
for their godliness as their son afterwards became as 
a philosopher, and found a " father, friend, and tu- 
tor, all in one." He was early made acquainted 
with the way of salvation, so that, even during his 
childhood, young Edwards became the subject of 
deep religious impressions. So much was this the 
case, that he and two youths, his companions, erected 
a booth in a very retired spot, to which they fre- 
quently resorted for social prayer, and for a long 
period they continued to meet in that lodge in the 
wilderness. While the giddy and the thoughtless 
among their companions forgot that they had either 
a soul to be saved or a God to meet, these earnest 
boys were eagerly seeking the w r ay of life. They 
understood the truth, " They that seek me early 
shall find me." They had early begun to be ra- 
tional, and prefer God to man. They had learned 
that wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, and 



RELIGIOUS CHILDHOOD. 117 

instead of listening to the whispers of the old ser- 
pent, they listened to conscience — they applied their 
hearts to wisdom. 

But it will be best to quote the accounts which 
Jonathan Edwards gave of himself when looking 
back to the period to w r hich we refer — the sow- 
ing time of his life, and, in his case, one of the 
most important seed-times that ever passed overman. 

" 1 had a variety of concerns and exercises about 
my soul from my childhood," he says. The first 
of these was before he went to college ; and as that 
took place when he was little more than twelve 
years of age, young Edwards was j)erhaps visited 
by such awakenings when only seven or eight years 
of age. He continued, he narrates, to be concerned 
about salvation for many months ; he prayed in 
secret five times each day, and spent much time in 
religious conversation with other boys. Surely it 
was a goodly sight to see such early earnestness ! 
Would not the young be better and happier were 
that more common 1 In process of time, however, 
these fresh impressions faded away ; and, though the 
boy was uneasy at the change, he discontinued secret 
prayer. Affliction came, but young Edwards was 
not reclaimed, till trouble of conscience showed him 
the necessity of being decided for God. It then be- 
came the main business of his life to make sure of 
salvation ; and, amid iirward struggles and fears, 
he was made willing to " part with all things in the 
world for an interest in Christ." 



<18 GOD IN NATURE. 

The work of redemption, and the glorious way of 
salvation by Christ, now became the subjects of bis 
delighted contemplation. The beauty and the 
meekness of Jesus attracted his young affections. 
What wearies godless youth wearied young Ed- 
wards no longer. Free grace was seen in all its 
wise adaptations to man ; in short, even at this early 
stage, he was led into the very heart of the divine 
system by which sinners are made the heirs of 
glory — having the wisdom of God for their guide, 
and the peace of God for their portion. 

And even then, the youth who lived to rank 
among " the greatest of the sons of men," had vast 
and wondrous conceptions of the depths of religion — 

" He roved among the vales and streams, 
In the green wood and hollow dell," 

and thought of his God among them all. " A sweet 
sense of the glorious majesty and grace of God, 
which he knew not how to express," would creep 
over him as he gazed on the sky and the clouds. 
" It was a sweet, and gentle, and holy majesty," he 
said ; " and also a majestic meekness, an awful 
sweetness, a high, and great, and holy gentleness." 
From this period his sense of divine things deep- 
ened, and his enjoyment in the same proportion in- 
creased. To his purified eye, the appearance of 
everything around him was changed. The sun, the 
moon, and stars, the clouds, and the blue sky — all 
nature, as well as grace, were invested with new at- 



THE LIGHT OF GOD. 119 

tractions ; because the youth saw God his Saviour 
in them all. "I often used to sit," he says, "and 
view the moon for a long time ; and in the day 
spent much time in viewing the clouds and sky, to 
behold the sweet glory of God in these things, in 
the meantime singing forth, with a low voice, my 
contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer." The 
lightning and the thunder, as well as the sunbeam 
on the sleeping waters, had charms in which young 
Edwards intensely delighted, though even these 
could not fill his soul. Nay, he " had vehement 
longings after God and Christ, and after more holi- 
ness, whereby his heart," he records, " seemed to 
be full and ready to break." He now lamented 
that he had not turned more early to God ; and 
his time was engrossed with the pursuit of divine 
things like one who was anxious to redeem the 
time. He felt how good and how pleasant it was to 
have God for his friend, and there never was a better 
illustration than the case of this youth affords, of 
the truth, " God keepeth that man in perfect peace 
whose mind is stayed on Him." Serene as the 
evening of a summer day his life had now become. 
He walked in the light of God's countenance. He 
was compassed about with songs of deliverance. 
His great soul had found its resting-place and centre, 
and meditation, prayer, and converse with God be- 
came his common employments. 

Edwards felt an eager desire to be in everything a 
complete Christian, and conformed to the blessed 



120 GOING ON TO PERFECTION. 

image of Christ. " It was my constant strife," he 
says, " day and night, and my constant inquiry, how 
I should be more holy, and live more holily, and 
more becoming a child of God and disciple of 
Christ." " To lie low before God, as in the dust — 
that I might be nothing and that God might be all — 
that I might become as a little child" — was the 
maxim and the delight of Jonathan Edwards, even 
before he reached his twentieth year ; and when 
little more than nineteen, the great philosopher of 
Christianity solemnly dedicated himself to God, " to 
act as one who had no right to himself in any re- 
spect." From that day till his spirit returned to 
the God who gave it, his master-work was to ad- 
vance God's glory, and prepare for His abode. He 
dug deep for a foundation, for he was afraid to build 
upon the sand. The knowledge of himself, acquired 
with so much pains, drove this youth to Him in 
whom the people of God are complete, and there he 
rejoiced in the abundance of peace. He was visibly 
preparing for 

" The dawning of that purer day 



Only, as yet, to Aspiration given, 

When clouds no more shall darken o'er our way, 

And all shall walk in light — the light from heaven." 

Nor were the other attainments of this youth in 
ferior to his progress in religion. What can expand 
the intellect, if not the study of the Infinite ? What 
can familiarize the mind with the august or the ma- 



THE STUDENT. 121 

jestic, if not meditation on the Eternal 1 What can 
increase and dignify our knowledge, if not the con- 
templation of the Omniscient ? But with all these 
young Edwards was familiar ; nor did he fail to 
profit by the study of such ennobling topics. When 
only about ten years of age, he recorded his opin- 
ions regarding the immateriality of the soul, in a 
way as delicate for its wit as it was keen in its 
reascning. Rapid and thorough attainments char- 
acterized him at college. Even at this early age, 
the peculiar powers which made him so remarkable 
as a philosopher were apparent, and, cultivated as 
they were with conscientious assiduity, he laid the 
foundation of an eminence in philosophy such as few 
of the children of men have reached. At the age 
of fourteen he read some of the profoundest works 
of the philosophers, with a far higher pleasure, as 
he himself describes, " than the most greedy miser 
finds when gathering up handfuls of silver and gold 
from some newly-discovered treasure." As he al- 
ways studied with his pen in his hand, to record his 
thoughts, young Edwards acquired the habit of think- 
ing accurately, of thinking connectedly, of thinking 
habitually ; so that eminence was not secured by 
casuality, or at random — it was the result of assid- 
uous application, and long-continued diligence. In 
short, Jonathan Edwards took as much pains to be 
an accurate thinker, and to possess a well- furnished 
mind, as many youths employ to lay up materials 
for bitter reflection, when the days of their folly or 
11 



122 A MODEL. 

their shame end in ignorance, if not disgrace. With 
careful, yet delighted steps, he climbed the steep 
and rugged ascent which leads to eminence ; but he 
reached it in triumph — and from that serene eleva- 
tion he saw sights, and was familiar with knowledge, 
which delight the soul of man, because they are con- 
nected with the all-glorious God. As a child, as a 
j outh, and as a man, Jonathan Edwards is a model 
as much as any fallen creature could be ; and were 
there multitudes walking in his footsteps, multi- 
tudes w r ould be on the way to glory, honor, and im- 
mortality. 

But, amid all his pursuits, the Word of God was 
his master-study — it was always the first and the 
last with him ; or rather, it was the guide and di- 
rector of all his other efforts. One of his earliest 
resolutions is the following : — " To study the Scrip- 
tures so steadily, constantly and frequently, as that 
I may find, and plainly perceive myself to grow in 
the knowledge of the same." Now, that is both the 
basis and the key-stone of the arch. That knits all 
compactly together ; and, followed up as the reso- 
lution often was, upon the bended knees of this de- 
voted stripling, we need not wonder at the greatness 
to which he ascended. " To live with all my might 
while I live," was another of his resolutions, and he 
kept it to the letter. 

" Iso childish loss of philosophic pains" 

was his, He resolved — he performed — and he 



A PROSPEROUS MAN. 123 

^as blessed in his deed. He prospered like a tree 
planted by the rivers of water, which brings forth 
his fruit in his season. , 

But, without dwelling longer on the seed-time of 
young Edwards, we must hasten away from it to 
think of his autumn, and ascertain how he reaped. 
And perhaps no man ever produced such mighty 
results among his fellow-men, considering his natu- 
ral disadvantages. He was born in the midst of a 
wilderness ; for that portion of America where his 
father lived and labored was then nothing more. 
He was educated at a seminary which was in a very 
rudimental condition. He spent the better part of 
his years as the pastor of a retired village, and the 
residue as an Indian missionary in a still humbler 
hamlet. But, with all these disadvantages, 

■ " His mind, 

Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind," 

took up a prominent place among the philosophers 
of his day. He is acknowledged as one of the chief 
— nay, some rank him as the very first of those 
w T ho have labored to free the mind of man from 
error, and promote his highest interests. Amid 
such employments those who knew him tell that he 
lived in the enjoyment of that peace which passes 
al 1 understanding, and of the joy with wdiich a 
stranger cannot intermeddle. 

It was a resolution formed by this man, " Never 
to lose one moment of time, but to improve it in 
every possible way he could." 



124 MAXIMS FOR THE CHRISTIAN. 

It was another, " Never to do anything he would 
be afraid to do if it were the last hour of his life." 

It was another, " That he would live as he should 
wish to do when he came to die." 

It was another, " To strive every w T eek to be 
brought higher in religion, and to a higher exercise 
of grace than he was the week before." 

It was another, " Never to utter anything that is 
sportive, or matter of laughter, on a Lord's day." 

It was another, " That no other end but religion 
should have any influence at all on any of his ac- 
tions." 

And it was another, " To cast and venture his 
soul on the Lord Jesus Christ, to trust and confide 
in Him, and consecrate himself wholly to Him." 

Now, guided by these and similar maxims, Ed- 
wards moved among his fellow-men a benefactor 
wherever he went. He was still but a youth when 
he began his career under such deep-reaching con- 
trol ; and the tenderness of his conscience, the purity 
of his mind, together with the grandeur of his intel- 
lect, maiked him out as a man whom God had sent 
to promote the blessedness of his fellow-creatures. 
But let no youth suppose that Edwards arrived at 
his ascendant position without an effort. It w r as, we 
repeat, by laborious endeavors, by constant watch- 
fulness, by detecting and repenting of the least de- 
parture from God's holy standard, that he became 
so illustrious among the sons of men. He kept his 
heart wu'th all diligence ; and, on the whole, we may 



THE EARNEST SOUL. 125 

safely say that no child of the fallen Adam ever 
lived a happier life, or one more serenely beautiful 
and calm, than Jonathan Edwards. He rejoiced in 
the light of God's countenance, and walking humbly 
with Him, he reaped even on earth a far more rich 
reward than if the gold of Ophir had been laid at 
his feet. He had his trials — -his hours of darkness 
and despondency. From his fellow-men, also, he 
endured tribulation ; but, on the whole, his was the 
path of the just — his was " the good measure, press- 
ed down, and running over," from the God whom 
he assiduously served. 

But it was not in his own soul alone that he was 
blessed — he was made a blessing to the souls of 
multitudes besides. While this great philosopher 
preached to his fellow-men, they felt the power and 
the weight of his words, for his own holy example 
gave force to what he proclaimed, and about the 
year 1734, many forsook their sins under the ur- 
gency of Edwards, and turned to the God from 
whom they had long been wandering. Old and 
young felt that a prophet of God was among them, 
and a rich harvest of souls was gathered in. A deep 
and solemn interest in religion pervaded all classes, 
" So extensive was the influence of the Spirit of 
God, that there was scarcely an individual in the 
town, either old or young, who was left unconcerned 
about the great things of the eternal world. This 
was true of the gayest, of the most licentious, and 
the most hostile to religion. And, in the midst of 

n* 



126 A SPIRITUAL HARVEST. 

this universal attention, the work of conversion was 
carried on in the most astonishing manner. Every 
day witnessed its triumphs ; and so great was the 
alteration in the appearance of the town, that in the 
spring and summer following, it appeared to be full 
of the presence of God. There was scarcely a house 
which did not furnish the tokens of His presence, 
and scarcely a family which did not present the 
trophies of His grace." Edwards himself supposed 
that " the number of apparently genuine conver- 
sions were at least four each day, or nearly thirty 
in a week, taking one week with another, for five 
or six weeks together." 

But the blessed influence spread to other places. 
Ten towns in one county are named as scenes of 
similar awakening, and seventeen in another. No 
class, nor age, nor description of men were exempt- 
ed. Upwards of fifty persons above forty years of 
age, ten above ninety, about thirty between ten and 
fourteen, and one of four, became, in the view of 
Edwards, the subjects of the renewing grace of 
God. About three hundred persons thus became 
true Christians in one half year. Nearly all the 
adult population of the town became communicants. 
The amazing power, the depth of conviction of sin, 
the light, and love, and joy imparted, the great ex- 
tent, and the swift propagation of God's truth in 
men's souls, yielded a blessedness to him who was 
the instrument in producing these results, such as 
cannot be understood by any but those who know 



DEATH. 127 

the value of a soul, " redeemed not with silver and 
gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a 
lamb without blemish and without spot." Amid 
all these things, God appeared to that saint " as a 
glorious and lovely Being, chiefly on account of his 
holiness ;" and it was because Edwards strove so 
well to " be holy because God is holy," that he 
was so signally blessed and made a blessing. 

But we can only glance at such things as they 
are read in the history of the great American phi- 
losopher. We cannot tarry to tell how he stamped 
his own lofty views of God and redemption upon 
thousands throughout the world ; how he uprooted 
false philosophy, and helped to settle some of the 
most difficult questions which agitate the minds of 
men. It must be enough to record how he reaped 
such a harvest of souls as has now been described, 
how the God whom he so faithfully served honored 
His servant, and gave him a name such as few 
either in the old "world or the new ever enjoyed. 
He was honored to shed light on the true nature 
of virtue ; on the origin of evil ; on the atonement ; 
on the doctrine of salvation by Christ's righteous- 
ness ; on the distinction between the regenerate and 
the unregenerate ; on the nature of experimental 
religion — and when he had done all this, how did 
he die 1 His death took place somewhat suddenly, 
but it was not unworthy of his life. His dying 
counsel to men was an echo of all his lessons — 
u Trust in God, and ye need not fear." These 



128 THE MEMORY OF THE JUST. 

were his last words ; and with them he cast his 
family, the college of which he was President, and 
all his cares, on Him who cares for his people. 
Edwards died with as much calmness and compo- 
sure as if he had just been falling asleep. The 
God whom he had served with so much zeal did 
not forsake him in the valley of the shadow of death. 
— nay, he w^as enabled to dread no evil there. 

" He fell, but felt no fear." 

Nor did the favor of his God forsake this remark- 
able man even after death. We say nothing of the 
life everlasting which he reaped beyond the grave, 
for that is beyond the ken or the estimate of man. 
" It doth not yet appear what we shall be." " Eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered 
into the heart of man, the things which God has 
prepared for them that love Him." But even here 
the great American philosopher has been blessed 
beyond what usually falls to the lot of man. It is 
not very common for grace to descend from sire to 
son : Lois, Eunice, and Timothy, or three successive 
generations possessed of " unfeigned faith," are not 
often imitated ; but in the case of Jonathan Edwards, 
it is remarkable that his faith has descended. His 
ancestors for many generations were godly, and his 
descendants, now amounting to about two thousand, 
have in general been distinguished in a similar way. 
Many of them are ministers of religion, who advo 



GLOR* AN") HONOR. 129 

cute the great cause to which his life was devoted ; 
and as they have risen up to call him blessed, he is 
still speaking in the churches by those whom his ex- 
ample instructed, or his zeal inspired. 

And on a retrospect of all this, can that be " h 
sound mind" which does not desire to imitate the 
example or walk in the footsteps of such a man ? 
His gifts are not within the reach of all, but his 
godliness is ; and were the young to begin when 
Jonathan Edwards began, to be guided supremely 
and always by the mind of God, to what heights 
might they not ascend — what good might they not 
achieve % Men rear their monuments to heroes, 
and laud the memories of those who have been great 
only in the havoc which they perpetrated. But 
what shall we say of him who turned so many to 
righteousness — of the love which covered a multi- 
tude of sins — of the soul which burned itself away 
in promoting the great end for which the Son of 
God suffered and died % Is he not to shine as the 
stars forever and ever % And among these stars, 
none more bright or blessed than he whose history 
we have glanced at from his cradle to his grave. 
If ever there was a case which establishes the fact, 
that what a man soweth that shall he also reap, it 
was that of Jonathan Edwards. " The grain of mus- 
tard-seed, which is the least of all seeds," was 
planted in his soul in childhood, but "' it grew as 
the lily, and cast forth its roots as Lebanon." " Se- 



130 GLORY AND HONOR. 

cundus nemini mortalium" was inscribed upon his 
tomb, and may we not add, in words derived from 
the same source, " Abi, Viator, et pia sequere ves- 
tigia" % Go, wayfarer, and walk in his holy foot- 
step? 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE SAILOR. 



Do our young readers still bear in mind the ob- 
ject with which we are addressing them ? 

It is to show how much depends on the season 
of youth ; and that, according to our conduct then, 
our life may be expected to be happy or wretched. 

Early piety, and a life of joy — or early sin, and 
a life of misery ; that is the alternative which we 
earnestly present to the youthful. Sow wickedness 
in youth, and reap wretchedness in age — or sow the 
good seed, and reap life everlasting. 

The Holy God has established a sure connection 
between sin and sorrow on the one hand, between 
godliness and true peace on the other, and we would 
fix that conviction in the hearts of all the young. 
" Nemo malus felix" — no wicked man is happy — 
was the saying of a heathen — shall we say less 1 

When painters would make any object stand 
prominently out upon their canvas, they place a 
mass of shade behind it, or some contrast-color, so 
as to heighten the effect of the principal figure. By 
this natural device, a stronger impression is pro- 
duced ; and some of the great masters, like Rem' 



132 JOHN NEWTON. 

brandt and others, are distinguished among their 
fellow-artists by their skill in this distribution of 
light and shade. — We are now about to sketch the 
moral portrait of one whose character may be seen 
surrounded by some of the darkest shadows which 
ever clouded a human soul. He emerged at last 
from the darkness, but for years it was truly a 
" darkness which might be felt." 

John Newton was born on the 24th of July, 
1725. His mother was a woman of eminent de- 
voutness, but she died before he w r as seven years 
of age. Young Newton was a child of great prom- 
ise, and at the early age of four, he says, he could 
read as well as when he was mature in years. 
Though he was early taught the truth which guides 
to heaven, in forms adapted to his young mind, he 
soon began, after the death of his mother, to mingle 
with wicked boys, and as speedily learned their 
ways. His father, who had been educated at a Je- 
suit college near Seville, kept him coldly at a dis- 
tance, and instead of making progress at a school 
which he attended for two years, the boy forgot 
nearly all that his good mother had taught him. 

The day on which he was eleven years of age saw 
Newton enter his father's ship as a sea-boy, and he 
made five voyages with him in the Mediterranean. 
The sinfulness of his heart, he tells us, was now 
gathering strength by habit ; he was very wicked, 
and therefore very foolish ; and being his own ene 
my, he seemed determined that no one should be his 



THE MORNING CLOUD. 133 

friend. He had learned whole chapters and small- 
er portions of Scripture, with catechisms, hymns, 
and poems, under the eye of his mother, who often 
commended him to God with many prayers and 
tears ; but the pent-up stream soon swept away 
every barrier — as well attempt 

"To stem the mountain stream with sand, 
Or fetter flame with flaxen band," 

as to tame the waywardness of a youth like New- 
ton by mere human means. Yet some convictions 
of sin and danger from time to time arose, and 
when he was about fifteen years of age he experi- 
enced some of these. He began to pray, to read 
the Scriptures, to keep a diary, and to think him- 
self religious. But it was a pressure from without, 
not a well-spring within ; it was not the day-star 
arising in his heart, but a spark which himself had 
kindled, and it soon went out in darkness. He 
then plunged into vice whenever he could indulge 
it away from restraint and the eye of man. Amid 
struggles with conscience and the love of sin, young 
Newton was often sorely perplexed ; but, on the 
whole, he was sinking deeper and deeper into 
wickedness. " In short," one says concerning him, 
" he took up and laid aside a religious profession 
three or four different times before he was sixteen 
years of age." He himself tells that he saw the 
necessity of religion as a means of escaping from 
hell ; but he loved sin, and was unwilling to forsake 
12 



lo4 THE FORMALIST. 

it. So strangely blinded was he, that sometimes 
when he had resolved upon some deed of wicked- 
ness, he could not proceed to its perpetration with- 
out despatching his usual form of prayer. At the 
time, he grudged every moment given to that task, 
but conscience would not keep terms with him un- 
less he complied. He complied accordingly, as the 
Romanist tells his beads, or purchases a plenary in- 
dulgence, and then hastened away to his iniquity. 

But his last reform must be described in New- 
ton's own words. " For more than two years," he 
says, "I did everything that might be expected from 
a person entirely ignorant of God's righteousness, 
and desirous to establish his own. I spent the 
greatest part of every day in reading the Scriptures^ 
or in meditation and prayer. I fasted often ; I even 
abstained from all animal food for three months. I 
would hardly answer a question for fear of speaking 
an idle word ; I seemed to bemoan my former mis- 
carriages very earnestly, and sometimes with tears ; 
in short, I became an ascetic, and endeavored, as far 
as my situation would permit, to renounce society, 
that I might avoid temptation." 

It was not thus, however, that Newton was to be 
subdued to the truth. He proceeded on a voyage 
to Venice, where he was tempted to relax his strict- 
ness ; and though he did not become an absolute 
profligate, yet he was hastening along the road to 
ruin, and fast forsaking his God. He was at one 
time roused to reflection by a dream ; at another 



SIN AND DEGRADATION. 135 

stimulated by the charges of conscience, while on 
one occasion, for two or three days, he could scarcely 
eat, or sleep, or transact his ordinary business ; but 
at length all that " early dew" vanished away. New- 
ton trampled upon every restraint, and drank up 
iniquity like water. 

He was next seized and carried by force on board 
a man-of-war — the Harwich — at the Nore. By his 
father's influence he was appointed a midshipman ; 
but he soon formed such acquaintances on board 
that ship as led him habitually to practise and de- 
light in wickedness. To give relief to his con- 
science, and reins to his passion, Newton now be- 
came an infidel. He could not both hold the truth 
of God and live in sin against him. He therefore 
denied the truth, and in the company of a sea- 
man, like-minded with himself, hurried without re- 
straint into all the sin which lay within his reach. 
He was now sowing copiously to the flesh. 

As he had been pressed into the naval service, 
young Newton did not feel any great desire to re- 
main afloat. Desertion w r as then not uncommon, 
and when he was, on a certain occasion, sent in 
command of a boat to prevent it, he betrayed his 
trust, and deserted himself. He w^as seized, how- 
ever, and marched back to Plymouth, where his ves- 
sel was lying ; and now he was to reap in part the 
fruits of his recent doings. He w T as first confined 
foi two days in the guard-house ; he was next sent 
on board, and laid in irons ; he was then publicly 



136 THE SUICIDE. 

whipped, and degraded from his rank A' midship. 
man ; his former companions were forbidden to 
show him the least favor, or even to speak with 
hirn ; in a word, he had laid a snare, and was him- 
self the captive. 

And now began the most exquisite misery he had 
ever yet endured- — Newton was about to discover 
that no man can oppose the Holy God and prosper 
in the end. His former companions durst not be- 
friend him ; his commanding officer was implacable 
in his resentment against one who had so basely 
betrayed his trust ; and his mind was filled, he says, 
with the most excruciating passions — " eager desire, 
bitter rage, black despair ;" these he describes, as 
nestling in his guilty bosom. Every hour he was 
exposed to some fresh insult, while not a single 
friend was at hand to soothe his sorrows or to dry 
his tears ; outward, inward — all was dark. Newton 
had stifled convictions ; he had thrown away the 
truth, and was learning that infidelity is but a broken 
reed to lean on when woe rolls in upon woe, each 
threatening to destroy self-ruined man. Amid his 
anguish, he attempted to throw himself into the sea, 
but that plan of relief did not succeed. Goaded as 
he was by fierce passion, he next formed a plan 
against the life of his captain, in revenge for the pun- 
ishment inflicted on himself as a deserter. The hope 
of cutting off that officer was one reason Avhich in- 
duced Newton to prolong his own life, though he 
was sometimes divided between the two, as he could 



THE POTSHERD. 1 37 

not easily accomplish both the murders which he 
contemplated. He had now succeeded in banishing 
the fear of God from his soul. Conscience had 
ceased to give him trouble. Believing, Avith other 
infidels, that when he died he would cease to be, he 
w T as freed from all restraint. He was given up to 
a spirit of strong delusion, and believed lie upon lie ; 
he neither feared God nor regarded man ; he laid 
the bridle on the neck of passion, that it might rush 
forward at pleasure ; and premeditated murder and 
suicide were the results. 

But Newton was discharged from the Harwich, 
where he had thus ripened in guilt, and transferred 
to a vessel which was proceeding to Sierra Leone. 
By this exchange a still wider door for sinning was 
thrown open before him. He had been under 
some restraint before, but now he could sin with- 
out disguise ; and while passing from the Harwich 
to his new ship, he rejoiced in the escape, because 
he might now be as abandoned as he pleased with- 
out any control. He accordingly sinned with a still 
higher hand. He made it his busy endeavor to 
tempt and seduce others, and eagerly sought ocea-* 
sion to do evil " even to his own hazard and hurt." 
He outraged his captain — he wrought all sin with 
greediness. The potsherd of the earth was boldly 
contending with its Maker ; and that it was not 
dashed in pieces is to be ascribed only to the long- 
suffering and forbearance of God. 

This course of life continued for about six months, 
12* 



138 CONTENDING WITH HIS MAKER. 

Newton then left his ship, and was landed on one 
of the Benano islands, in the region where slaves 
w T ere then bought and sold in great numbers, and 
his landing was like that of a shipwrecked man, 
with little more than the clothes upon his back. 

But we cannot follow this wayward youth through 
all the fitful stragglings of his great guilt ; yet, 
before recording how he reaped after the sad seed- 
time now described, let us glance back at what 
Newton might have been, compared with what he 
has become. 

He might have been guided by the truth of God 
in the ways of peace, for it had come to his con- 
science with some degree of power. But instead 
of that, he was a poor infidel, drinking up sin, and 
seeking happiness there. 

He might have been an officer, honored and obey- 
ed. He was dwelling among slave-dealers, as de- 
graded and forlorn as he was poor. 

He might have been in the enjoyment of happi- 
ness. He has honestly confessed that " his breast 
was filled with the most excruciating passions." 

Had his mother's lessons and prayers been re- 
membered, or his father's counsels obeyed, John 
Newton might have been on the way to affluence, 
or at least to worldly prosperity. But these things 
were neglected: he trampled upon them all, and 
he is now landed on an island, without a single 
friend, abject, depraved, and farther fallen than the 



THE PRODIGAL. 139 

poor negroes whom he was soon to Luy and sell, 
or ensnare and oppress. 

Such are the wages of iniquity ; such, we must 
evermore repeat, are the inevitable results of rebel- 
lion against a holy God. There may be degrees in 
woe, but woe in some degree is the result of sin as 
certainly as the sun gives light and heat, or as win- 
ter brings storms and cold. 

But without dwelling longer on the crimes of 
Newton's early life, let us now consider in a few 
details how he reaped, after his landing in the Be- 
nano Island. His career in sin, and consequent 
suffering, was not like the shower which thunder 
brings, violent and short, but like the dreary, 
drenching rains which pour for days and nights 
upon us. What, then, was the result of his early 
crime 1 What fruits did he gather ? Were they 
sweet to the taste } Were they such as to allure 
others to walk in Newton's footsteps, and to copy 
Newton's ways ? These questions admit of a mel- 
ancholy and an instructive answer. 

Referring to the period which we have now 
reached, when his sins began to find him out, New- 
ton himself records his astonishment that what he 
suffered at this time " did not bereave him either of 
his life or his senses." He entered the service of 
one who was growing rich in the horrid traffic of the 
guilty coast where Newton had landed. But his 
master was under the control of a negro woman 
who was of some consequence in her own country, 



140 THE APPLES OF SODOM. 

and as her antipathy to Newton was intense, she 
became the cause of many of the miseries which 
we are now to recite. Daring the absence of his 
master at a neisjhborinsj settlement, her cruelty be- 
gan to appear. Newton was sick of a fever, but it 
was sometimes with difficulty that he could procure 
even a draught of cold water amid his burning heat. 
His bed was a mat spread upon a board, with a log 
for his pillow. When he began to recover, he 
could not get food to satisfy his cravings ; he was, 
in short, the prodigal of the parable in real life. 
The negro, at whose mercy he lay, scarcely allowed 
him food sufficient to sustain his life, although she 
herself fared sumptuously every day. Sometimes, 
however, she sent him food in her own plate after 
she had dined, " and this, so greatly was he hum- 
bled, he received with thanks and eagerness, as the 
most needy beggar does an alms." Is it true, or is 
it not true, that ; - the way of transgressors is hard" ? 
The following portion of the fruits which Newton 
reaped we must let himself describe. " Once," he 
says, " I well remember, I was called to receive 
this bounty from her own hand, but being exceed- 
ingly weak and feeble, I dropped the plate. Those 
who live in plenty can hardly conceive how this 
loss touched me, but she had the cruelty to laugh 
at my disappointment ; and, though the table was 
covered with dishes (for she lived much in the Eu* 
ropean manner), she refused to give me any more. 
My distress has been at times so great as to compel 



SORROW UPON SORROW. 14! 

me to go by night and pull up roots in the planta- 
tion (though at the risk of being punished as a thief), 
which I have eaten raw upon the spot for fear of 
discovery. The roots I speak of are very whole- 
some food when boiled or roasted, but as unfit to be 
eaten raw in any quantity as a potato. The conse- 
quence of this diet, which, after the first experiment 
I always expected, and seldom missed, was the 
same as if I had taken tartar emetic, so that I have 
often returned as empty as I went ; yet necessity 
compelled me to repeat the trial several times. I 
have sometimes been relieved by strangers ; yea, 
even by the slaves in the chain, who have secretly 
brought me victuals (for they durst not be seen to 
do it) from their own slender pittance. Next to 
pressing want, nothing sits harder upon the mind 
than scorn and contempt^ and of this likewise I had 
an abundant measure." 

Nor was this wanton usage all ; the self-deluded 
sinner must sink farther still. The negro assailed 
him with cruel mocking ; and while she wasted him 
by starvation, she reviled him as worthless and in- 
dolent. She compelled him to walk while enfeebled 
by disease and when he could scarcely move, her 
attendants were ordered to mimic his gait, to clap 
their hands, to turn his very sorrows into mirth, to 
pelt him with limes, and sometimes even with stones. 
When he complained to his master, he was not be- 
lieved ; nay, his sufferings were increased. He was 
condemned for misdeeds without evidence, and as 



142 FEEDING UPON HUSKS. 

no one would trust him, when his master left the 
vessel in which Newton served, he was locked upon 
deck with a pint of rice for the day's allowance, nor 
had he any relief till his master's return. " Indeed," 
Newton himself relates, " I believe I should have- 
nearly starved but for an opportunity of catching 
fish sometimes. When fowls were killed for my 
master's use, I seldom was allowed any part but 

the entrails, to bait my hooks with If 

I saw a fish upon my hook, my joy was little less 
than any other person would have found in the ac- 
complishment of the scheme he had most at heart. 
Such a fish, hastily broiled, or rather half burnt, 
without salt, sauce, or bread, has afforded me a deli- 
cious meal. If I caught none, I might, if I could, 
sleep away my hunger till the next return of slack- 
water, and then try again." 

We repeat it ; Is not the way of transgressors 
hard % He has not a human heart in his bosom 
who would not sympathize with this youth amid his 
sufferings, or wonder at the hardness of that heart 
which could make sport at his woe. But our sym- 
pathy, though strong even to tears, cannot blind us 
to the fact that this wayward youth is filled with the 
fruits of his own devices. He has made God a liar, 
and God is proving that he is true. — He is true at 
least in this declaration, " Be sure your sins will 
find you out." 

But far as he is fallen, John Newtor, has not yet 
reached the lowest point. His whole dress consist- 



A CHILD OF PRAYER. 143 

ed of a shirt, a pair of trousers, a cotton handker- 
chief for a cap, and a cotton cloth about two yards 
long instead of upper garments. In that condition 
he was sometimes exposed, he says, for twenty, 
thirty, or perhaps forty hours together, amid inces- 
sant rains, accompanied with strong gales of wind, 
without the least shelter from the fury of the tem- 
pest. Pains were then produced which adhered to 
him through life — they were a portion of the wages 
of sin, which continued to be paid as long as he was 
in the body. Yet his heart though bowed down, was 
not subdued. He was like the tiger tamed by hun- 
ger, " but the Ethiopian had not changed his skin, nor 
the leopard his spots." It is not by mere anguish, 
even such as John Newton bore, that man is made 
a new creature. 

For about twelve months, these sorrows contin- 
ued, and we can scarcely venture to write all the 
degradation to which Newton was reduced. In the 
dead of night, he had to go and wash his one shirt 
among the rocks, and afterwards wear it wet, that 
it might dry on his person while he slept. When 
a ship's boat came to the island where he dwelt, 
shame often constrained him to flee to the woods to 
hide from the crew. Yet all the while, he says, his 
conduct, his principles, and heart were darker than 
his outward condition. He had once been a little 
boy fondly cherished by his mother. She had pray- 
ed for him. She had taught him the blessed truth 
of God. She had solemnly dedicated her boy to 



Ii4 INCREASING TO MORE UNGODLINESS. 

her Saviour. She had wept by his bedside m her 
anxiety for his welfare. But when she was laid 
in the grave, he made haste to forget it all. He 
denied the Word of God : God gave him up to a 
reprobate mind ; and there is that boy now — skulk- 
ing in the woods, half wild like the beasts which 
roam there, and eager only to escape from the 
gaze of his fellow-men. He had utterly forgot- 
ten that he could not escape from the eye of God. 
But John Newton was at last rescued from that 
house of bondage. By a remarkable providence 
which we cannot tarry to describe, he was suddenly 
freed from a captivity of fifteen months, where his 
sufferings had produced no salutary effect. During 
a voyage which he subsequently made, his life, he 
says, was a course of most horrid impiety and pro- 
faneness. Not content with common oaths and im- 
precations, he daily invented new ones ; so that, ac- 
cording to his own account, there perhaps never was 
a more daring blasphemer. Amid the perils of the 
voyage, hjs captain sometimes said that Newton was 
the Jonah — that a curse attended him wherever he 
went, and that all the troubles which befell the ship 
were occasioned by his being on board. Such things, 
however, took no hold of the hardened man. Con- 
science had been effectually silenced, and for weeks 
or months he had not a single check — death and all 
its consequences were nothing to him. On just one 
occasion a solemn question arose at the sight of 
" The Imitati< n of Christ," by Thomas a Kempis — 



CONSCIENCE RE- AWAKENING. 145 

What if these things should be true ? his conscience 
asked. But he shut the book, and resolved that, 
true or false, he must abide by the results of his 
choice. Amid the horrors of a tempest at sea, that 
thought . came back ; but he sullenly waited to re- 
ceive his inevitable doom in the yawning deep, 
while at one time it appeared as if the only hope of 
saving the ship lay in casting Newton overboard, so 
deep was the impression made by his guilt, or so 
melancholy the effects of his vicinity. 

Yet amid the anguish of that voyage, conscience 
did begin to whisper — texts of Scripture began to 
recur — especially that which says in language per- 
haps the most appalling that ever fell on mortal 
ear, " I will laugh at your calamity, and mock when 
your fear cometh."* The pungency of remorse 
thus began to be added to other causes of anguish : 
and this sinner, above most men, was left to reap 

* "Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretch- 
ed out my hand, and no man regarded ; but ye have set at 
nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof ; I 
also will laugh at your calamity ; I will mock when your 
fear cometh ; when your fear cometh as desolation, and 
your destruction cometh as a whirlwind ; when distress 
and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon 
me. but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but 
they shall not find me ; for that they hated knowledge, 
sin fl did not choose the fear of the Lord ; they would none 
rf r;y counsel, they despised all my reproof. Therefore 
ffiinll they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filial 
ifUh the;" own devices" — Prov. i. 24-SL 
13 



146 SLAVERY ITS WOES. 

the whirlwind of wrath. Nor should we fail .o no* 
tice that, during much of the time now referred to, 
Newton was the companion or the servant of slave- 
dealers. His sad degradation was deepened by an 
employment which was conversant mainly with the 
price of human flesh and blood, and which trampled 
on all the ties which linked man to man. His mu- 
sic was the wail of wives torn from husbands, or 
children from their parents, mingled with the clank- 
ing of bolts, and chains, and shackles, and all the 
while the iron was entering deeply into his own de- 
graded soul. 

We have thus seen, then, that before Newton had 
attained to manhood, he had become exceeding vile ; 
he sat in the chair of the scorn er in early life ; but, 
dark as the description is, the half has not been 
told. Like a sepulchre sending forth all that is 
noisome or deadly, he scattered the contagion of t% 
moral pestilence — he spread a moral blight where- 
ever he went ; and one instance of the effects of his 
pernicious example we cannot withhold. We sub- 
mit it to the young the more because it shows how 
sadly he reaped — even after he had began, in some 
degree, to consider his ways. 

When Newton was on board the Harwich, he be- 
came acquainted with a young midshipman, who 
was then free from open vice. But the youth was 
soon corrupted by his reckless associate, and speed- 
fly arrived at maturity in guilt. Years thereafter 
they met, and as Newton's conscience had now bo- 



THE RAVAGES OF SIN. 14 1 ? 

gan to be listened to again, he was anxious to rescue 
his former companion, if he could, from effects of 
which he had himself been the guilty cause. As he 
no longer felt infidelity to be tenable, he strove to 
undeceive his victim, His usual reply, however, 
was, that Newton was the first to give him an idea 
of his liberty, wdiich he would not now forego. His 
former corrupter, in the hopes of compensating for 
the evil which had been done, assisted the unhappy 
man to find employment on shore, but he only wax- 
ed worse and worse, and presented to Newton, from 
day to clay, a lively picture of what he himself had 
been. The misguided man had now become a centre 
of evil influence upon others. He spurned all re- 
straint, and when he was again sent to sea he gave 
loose to every passion — his excesses threw him into 
a malignant fever, of which he died, but not till he 
had appalled all those about him, and pronounced 
his own sad doom, without showing any symptom 
that he either hoped or asked for mercy. 

What a picture to be contemplated by the con- 
science of Newton ! 

What a warning to those whose delight it is, like 
Satan, to betray the unsuspecting ! 

Newton, in his vileness, could infect, but he could 
not heal. 

In his strong love of ungodliness, he could detach 
the stone from its bed on the mountain-side, but he 
could not arrest it as it thundered to the plain, shiv- 
ered irto fragments. 



148 CAUSE AND EFFECT. 

He could let out the waters, but he could not 
recall them as they swept down the valley, spread- 
ing desolation all around. 

It is not our purpose farther to pursue the history 
of John Newton. Enough has been said to show 
both how he sowed and how he reaped. His seed- 
time was one of appalling sinfulness — his reaping- 
time one of as intense and protracted woe. Changed 
he was by the almighty grace of God — so changed, 
that like the apostle Paul, he w T ho had been sunk in 
apostacy, infidelity, and crime, became a monument 
of mercy — the most signal, perhaps, of modern 
times. He preached that very gospel which he had 
formerly blasphemed : he 

" Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way," 

and when, about his eightieth year, he was urged to 
withdraw from the fatigues of preaching, his fre- 
quent expostulation was, " Shall the old African 
blasphemer stop, while he can speak V It would 
be pleasant and profitable to trace this wondrous 
change — to tell how he sowed a second crop, and 
reaped a plenteous harvest — to describe the good 
which he did — the youths whom he rescued from 
danger — the souls which he won to Christ ;* but 
enough has been recorded to show, in another exam- 

* Our young readers could not read a book more abound- 
ing either in adventure or lessons of deep wisdom, than 
the Life of the Rev. John Newton, by the Rev. Richard 
Cecil. 



god's ways not ours. 149 

pie, the inseparable connection which God has ap 
pointed between the seed-time and the harvest — be 
tween what a man sows, and what he must reap. 
It is true, that God in signal mercy rescued this 
long misguided man from the ruin for which he had 
so laboriously wrought ; and of all providential 
events, few could be more remarkable than the fact, 
that one of the most ignorant, the most miserable, 
and most forlorn slaves of sin, should be plucked 
from the fearful pit, and, as Newton says he was, 
appointed minister of the parish of the first magis- 
trate of the first city of the world. Yet so it was. 
The glory of God's grace was thereby displayed ; 
but we are wise only if we have learned to view 
the sad aberrations of John Newton as beacons upon 
rocks, telling us where danger and death lie con- 
cealed — 

"He who hates truth shall be the dupe of lies," 

is verified to the letter in the early period of his 
dark career. 

I3« 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE PHILANTHROPIST. 

Jonathan Edwards, Napoleon Bonaparte, Lord 
Byron — how diverse are the thoughts suggested to 
a mind modelled after Scripture by the repetition 
of the names of these three men ! Jonathan Ed- 
wards, a philosopher of the highest school — the 
school of Christ — and, therefore, shedding countless 
blessings on his own and every age. Napoleon 
Bonaparte, a man, in one point of view, of as gigan- 
tic powers, but perverting them from the purposes 
for which they were bestowed, and eventually occa- 
sioning the death of two millions of his fellow crea- 
tures to aggrandize himself, or maintain his aggran- 
dizement. And Lord Bjron, one of the most gift- 
ed of mortals, but too often employing all his gifts 
to corrupt and degrade, to efface the distinctions be- 
tween right and wrong, and make man more signal- 
ly wretched by being more profane. Byron's path 
through life was like the track of an invading army, 
where only woe and desolation reigned. Each of 
the three is a beacon — the first to guide us to the 
haven of rest, and the others to warn us of danger 



JOHN HOWARD. 151 

and death. Let us now contemplate a grandeur of 
a different type. 

If we saw any man abandoning the ease and the 
comforts of his home to penetrate the dungeons of 
an entire kingdom ; if we beheld him from day to 
day exploring the wards of our hospitals, to carry 
relief to their inmates ; if we met him from time to 
time grappling with the misery of prisons, and try- 
ing to purify the dens where infection breeds ; if we 
noticed that he found his happiness in befriending 
the friendless, in soothing the outcast, in giving free- 
dom to the slave, and health to the sick in every 
land, — what would be our instantaneous verdict % 
That man would be hailed as the friend of human- 
ity, or a living copy of the perfect model, even of 
Him who came to proclaim liberty to the captive, 
and the opening of the prison to them that are 
bound. 

Such an one, and far more than can easily be 
told, was John Howard, the philanthropist ; and as 
there have been few instances in which the boy was 
more plainly the father of the man, or where the 
reaping was more clearly the result of the sowing, 
we may learn lessons of humanity if we study his 
seed-time and his harvest, his youth and his mature 
age, the one as preparing for the other. If we trace 
his bright and starlike course, it may warn some, 
and gladden others, as they tread the narrow way. 

Howard was born about the year 1725 ; but four 
different years, and four different places, compete 



152 EARLY PROMISE. 

for the honor of his birth. Some have tried to show 
that he had noble blood in his veins, bat the attempt 
was needless ; for John Howard was one of those 
whom the gifts and the grace of God very signally 
ennoble — his crown was one which will be worn in 
heaven. His mother died when he was an infant, 
and the sickly child was reared with some difficulty. 
Though not remarkable for early talent, he was one 
of those whom all who know them love. His gen- 
tleness, his modesty, and his self-sacrificing spirit, 
his biographers tell, endeared him to all ; but what 
chiefly attracted attention was, a certain peculiar 
kindliness, betokening the large humanity which his 
future years were to display. And as he grew, it 
was in favor with men. All could confide in him ; 
and those who knew him best could confide in him 
the most. Though affluent, and early his own mas- 
ter, Howard was averse to engage in the pleasures, 
and utterly opposed to the vices which ensnare and 
debase the young, and which too often inflict a dam- 
age on the character which it never can surmount. 
Surrounded by his books, attending to religion, and 
at peace with all around him, the young philanthro- 
pist, even as a boy, had acquired the gravity of 
manhood. He purchased his freedom from an ap- 
prenticeship in which he was bound, and from that 
time unconsciously began the training which was to 
fit him for his great work as the apostle of hu- 
manity. 

In all that Howard did, religion was his supreme 



THE TRUE MODEL. 153 

guide ; and even when he was only a stripling, that 
was apparent. In every pursuit his mind turned 
toward God. It was like the vital principle of his 
soul to recognize the Holy One as presiding over 
all ; and even at the time when youth in general 
have no fear of God before their eyes, but are the 
slaves or the dupes of passion, John Howard lived 
under the vivid impression of God's nearness, His 
goodness, and His holy requirements from man. 
And what this man proposed to himself in youth 
was no vague attainment. He strove as few others 
ever did, to form himself on the models of the 
prophets and apostles. The principles which they 
inculcated he sought through grace to exemplify. 
The Holy Scriptures were his constant study. The 
spiritual life which is there described he tried to 
lead, and as the Book of Life was his book, its God 
was his God ; its maxims were his maxims ; its 
wisdom was his wisdom. He cared not for the 
forms of modern life, unless they were pervaded by 
the Spirit of truth. The doctrines, the morality, 
the whole tone of the Bible, formed Howard's grand 
and early study, and this has been rightly called the 
key to his whole future character. He was, in truth, 
one of the most scriptural men that ever lived ; and 
that love which glowed in his soul so warmly, or 
which shone so brightly as to irradiate myriads, 
was all derived from that volume in which many 
of the young can find no delight, but which Howard 
found to be his rejoicing as well as his guide. 



154 GOD, NOT MAN, THE JUDGE. 

Having thus sought to form his character on the 
highest possible model, Howard was constantly 
pressing upward to the bright summit which he had 
.earned to keep in view. He tested every action 
by the inspired standard. He condemned every de- 
parture from its straight line- — he condemned it 
most of all in himself. Men might call that austere 
— he knew that it was the dictate of love. They 
might suppose that they were cut off from enjoy- 
ment by being cut on from sin ; but he knew that 
to seek enjoyment there, was to seek it in a thing 
which the Holy God has cursed, and Howard, there- 
fore, pressed forward to the mark. He made the 
mind of God his standard ; and we shall see, in yet 
another case, that as he sowed he reaped. The lov- 
ing homage of ten thousand hearts was the first- 
fruits of his harvest. 

The early youth of Howard had been devoted to 
toil, at the urgency of his father, and he was thus 
prepared to bear the burden and heat of his day. 
Industry, self-control, and a punctual Sabbath ob- 
servance, were always ranked by him among the 
cardinal virtues ; and it was after such a training, 
or after the adoption of such principles of action, 
that Howard began the high part which he was to 
perform in the groaning world into which his God 
had sent him. 

But it is not enough thus generally to refer to the 
power of religion in Howard's soul. Before we can 
knew ts depth or ascendency, we must examine it 



THE MIND OF CHRIST. 155 

more at length. He was travelling in Italy, then, 
or the restoration of his health, but having found 
nis object very speedily accomplished by the genial 
climate of that land, he would not, for the sake of 
merely selfish gratification prolong his tour. Even 
then he had learned and felt that no man lives to 
himself; and as soon as he was recruited, he resolv*. 
ed to return to Britain. His own words must tell 
the reason : u l feared," he says, "a misimprovement 
of a talent spent for mere curiosity, at the loss of 
many Sabbaths, and as many donations must be 
suspended for my pleasure." — " On a retrospective 
view, or a death-bed, this would cause pain," he said, 
" as unbecoming a disciple of Christ, whose mind 
should be formed in my soul." — " O, why should 
vanity and folly — pictures and baubles — or even the 
stupendous mountains, beautiful hills, or rich val 
leys, which ere long will be all consumed, engross 
the thoughts of a candidate for an everlasting king- 
dom ! . . . . Look forward, O my soul ! How 
low, how mean, how little is everything but what 
has a view to that glorious world of light, and life, 
and love !" Such sentiments are a key to Howard's 
character. They make us cease to marvel at his 
moral grandeur ; for all that is needed to raise our 
poor world from its dismal degradation, is to have 
;i Christ's mind formed in the soul," as Howard 
sought to have. The saint-like and the self-sacrific- 
ing would not then be limited to a few. The world's 
selfishness would be arrested in its dark and txou- 



156 A LIVING SACRIFICE. 

bled stream ; and where we now stand to weep ovei 
the ruins of human nature, we might behold proof 
after proof that man is still kindred with the skies. 
Howard was self-dedicated to God ; in soul, in body, 
in substance, in time, and in influence, he was con- 
secrated as a living sacrifice, and hence the philan- 
thropist's greatness — hence he appears among men 
as one of the few who have imitated, with the whole 
heart, the holy, harmless One who went about do- 
ing good. 

But these are only specimens of Howard's devo- 
tion, or of the means which he employed to form 
his mind on the Divine model, and brace himself 
for all his self-denying toils. " I would record the 
goodness of God," he says, on a Sabbath evening, 
at the Hague, " to the unworthiest of his creatures. 
For some days past, I have been in an habitual se- 
rious frame, relenting for my sin and folly, solemn- 
ly surrendering myself and babe to Him, and beg- 
ging the conduct of His Holy Spirit. I hope for a 
more tender conscience by greater fear of offending 
God, a temper more abstracted from this world, 
more resigned to death or life ; a thirsting for union 
and communion with God. O, the wonders of re- 
deeming love ! Some faint hope have even I, 
through redeeming mercy, that the full atoning sac- 
rifice shall ere long be made. O shout, my soul ! 
grace ! grace ! free, sovereign, rich, and unbounded 
grace ! Not I, not I, an ill-deserving, hell-deserving 
creature ; but where sin abounds, I trust grace su- 



SELF-DEDICATION". 157 

perabounds. Even I have still some hope — vfhat 
joy in that hope ! — that nothing shall separate my 
soul from the love of God in Jesus Christ. My 
soul ! as such a frame is thy delight, pray frequent- 
ly and fervently to the Father of Spirits to bless, 
HU Word and thy retired moments to thy serious 
conduct in life. My soul ! let not the interests of 
a moment engross thy thoughts, or be preferred to 
thine eternal interests. Look forward to that glory 
which will be revealed to those who are faithful un- 
to death." 

But we must go deeper still. Howard was not 
content with the incidental discharge of any solemn 
duty. Nay, he sought to make a formal surrender 
of himself to God, in a deed which he subscribed 
w T ith all the holy awe which should characterize a 
transaction in which Gocl is a party. In the close 
of that deed, he says — " O compassionate and di- 
vine Redeemer ! save me from the dreadful guilt 
and power of sin, and accept of my solemn, free, 
and, I trust, unreserved, full surrender of my soul, 
my spirit, my dear child, all I own and have, into 
thy hands ! How unworthy of thy acceptance ! 
Yet, Lord of Mercy, spurn me not from thy pres- 
ence. Accept of me, I hope, vile as I am, a repent- 
ing returning prodigal. I glory in this my choice, 
acknowledge my obligations as a servant of che 
Most High, and now, may the Eternal be my ref 
uge, and thou, my soul, be faithful to that God that 
will never forsake thee. Thus, O Lord God, thus 
14 



J 58 THE SECRET PLACE OF STRENTH. 

even a worm is humbly bold to covenant with thee. 
Do thou ratify it. and make me the everlasting 
monument of thy mercy. ilmen, amen, amen. 
Glory to God the Father, God the Son, and God 
the Holy Ghost, forever and ever. Amen. Hoping 
my heart deceives me not, and trusting in His mer- 
cy for restraining and preventing grace, though re- 
joicing in returning what I have received from Him 
into his hands, yet, with fear and trembling, I sign 
my unworthy name. 

John Howard." 

Shall we wonder any more to see one so devoted 
so determined with heart and soul, to live for God, 
taking up a place, such as few of the sons of men 
ever reached ? It was love to the Saviour, it was 
the truth as it is in Jesus, that formed the source of 
Howard's greatness ; it became at once the basis 
find the ornament of his character — he was a Chrkt- 
ian indeed, and hence his moral grandeur. 

And moulded thus upon the mind of God, How- 
ard was as consistent in his walk as he was lofty in 
his aim. After he had disciplined himself in the 
way now described, his mind appears to have been 
kept in g^eat serenity amid all his tossings and toils 
— with him above most men, iC the work of right- 
eousness was peace, and the effect of it was quiet- 
ness and assurance for ever." Nothing was suffer, 
ed to interrupt his religious habits. At home or 
abroad, he deemed the time that was to be daily 



THE POWER OF FAITH. 159 

given to God a sacred thing, and no circumstances 
were allowed to interfere with it. His daily aspira- 
tion was thus expressed — were it general, our world 
might become an Eden yet — "Make me more sen- 
sible of my entire dependence on thee, more hum- 
ble, more watchful, more abstracted from. this world, 
and better prepared to leave it." At once anima- 
ted and sublimed by such devotion to his God, and 
such communion with him, Howard commanded the 
veneration even of worldly men, who knew not the 
secret of his power. It was felt that there was a 
majesty about him which no vulgar solution could 
explain. All was truth ; all was sincerity ; and he 
wielded an influence over others which sometimes 
appeared superhuman. The conscience void of of- 
fence, the peace of God, the enjoyment of the Chief 
Good, and entire consecration to the great objects 
for which man should live, and for which the grace 
and truth which came by Jesus Christ are designed 
to fit us, all combined to make John Howard what 
he was — one of the greatest, noblest, holiest, and 
most blessed among the sons of men ; and religion, 
with noble exultation, may enrol him among 

" The bright profusion of her scattered stars." 

Thus furnished, then, for the work which he had 
to do, how did Howard reap? The ploughshare 
was driven deep into his soul that the good seed of 
the kingdom might take the deeper root — what, 
then, was the fruit which it produced ? Was it, ot 



160 A PROVIDENCE. 

was it not, u the peacable fruits of righteousness ?" 
As he sowed beside all waters, was the produce lux- 
uriant ? 

When Howard was but a youth, the great earth- 
quake at Lisbon happened. That capital was then 
laid in ruins, and the embryo philanthropist resolv- 
ed to hasten to the assistance of the wretched sur- 
vivors of that terrible catastrophe. But France 
and England were then at war. Howard was taken 
prisoner, and carried into France, and what he saw 
in the prisons there became the means of directing 
his thoughts to the great work which he was destin- 
ed to achieve in the world. The barbarity to which 
he was exposed, and all that he saw or experienced, 
imparted a lesson which the earnest man never for- 
got. Foity hours without bread or water — a dark, 
damp, and filthy dungeon for his abode — a leg of 
mutton thrown to him and his starving fellow-pris- 
oners to be devoured as wild beasts devour their 
prey — sleeping for six successive nights on the cold 
floor, with only a handful of straw to protect them 
from the noxious damp, — these formed part of 
Howard's early training as " the friend of the cap- 
tive," and during that period he gathered informa- 
tion w T hich proved that many hundreds who had 
been treated like himself had perished. For exam 
pie, thirty-six prisoners were buried in a hole at 
Dinan in a single day. His resolute and high-toned 
mind was thus ri vetted to the subject of the prison- 
ers gloomy lot, and his whole life in consequence 



HOWARD A PRISONER. 161 

became one long self-sacrificing struggle on behalf 
of the wretched inmates of cells and dungeons. 

And while thus detained as a prisoner, Howard 
began to exhibit some of the power by which he 
could control and subdue his fellow-men, or bind 
them closely to himself as virtuous genius is ever 
sure to do. His jailor allowed him, after some time, 
to walk at large, on his word being pledged that he 
would not seek to escape. A person at whose 
house he lodged freely supported the philanthropist, 
though he had not a farthing with which to repay 
the kindness, and allowed him at last to return 
to his home, trusting to his bare promise to refund 
w T hat he was owing. And further, Howard was 
permitted by men in power, to visit England 
to make arrangements for his own exchange and 
liberation as a prisoner, on simply pledging his hon- 
or that if he did not succeed he would return to his 
captivity. 

Influenced, then, by such deciding circumstances, 
Howard soon addressed himself to the great busi- 
ness of his life. It was something to turn a wretch- 
ed English hamlet into an Eden by all kinds of 
Christian appliances, and to rejoice amid the bless- 
ings which God had enabled him to scatter round 
his home. But these were conquests of too limited 
a kind to satisfy the cravings of Howard's mind ; 
and it was to prison- work that he consecrated all his 
energies, his heart, and soul, and strength. He be- 
gan that work in his own county, and gradually rx- 
14* 



162 THE RESULTS. 

tended his sphere of operations till all the counties 
of England were explored, till Scotland and Ireland 
were also visited, and the sorrows and wretchedness 
of the prisoners everywhere ascertained. His in- 
domitable energies had now found an object suffi- 
cient to task even them, and Howard threw himself 
into the work with all the determination of a great 
philanthropist, and all the love of a spirit-taught 
Christian. The abominations, moral and physical, 
with which the prisons of his day abounded, were 
all explored and unmasked. Journey after journey 
was taken, as if Howard had been resolved even to 
do more than verify the words, " I was sick and in 
prison, and ye visited me." And nothing daunted 
him in that labor of love. Small pox and jail-fever 
were united with nameless crimes to repel a mere 
amateur philanthropist from the receptacles of woe, 
and the dens of the outcast ; but they only served 
to manifest more clearly the staunch and sturdy na- 
ture of Howard's solicitude for man. He was some- 
times told by the doomed inmates of those abodes, 
and stimulated by the tale, that they w r ould rather 
be executed at once than drag out their existence 
for months or years in the living graves in which 
they were immured. 

It was to relieve such wretches, then, that the 
philanthropist of the world plied his incessant toils , 
and every country from Constantinople to Stock- 
holm — from Cadiz to St. Petersburgh, felt the bless- 
edness of his visits. Holland, Flanders, France, 






THE DIVINE EXAMPLE. 163 

Switzerland, Austria, Prussia, the German States, 
Spain, Portugal, Denmark, Norway, Russia, Po- 
land, Egypt, Turkey — were all visited by the self- 
sacrificing man. Propelled by profound Christian 
convictions, and allured onward by the Divine ex- 
ample — the Redeemer—he was sleepless and un- 
wearied in the great work. Without fee or reward 
— for he once declined a purse of 2000 sequins, 
about £900, offered by a grave old Turk at Smyrna, 
in return for the cure of his daughter — John How- 
ard pressed on to the rescue of the wretched ; and 
ere he paused in his high commission, he had trav- 
elled in one series of visits about 13,418 miles in 
prosecuting his chivalrous enterprize of charity ; in 
another series, about 4,600 miles ; in another, 6,990 
miles. During twelve years of such activity, it is 
computed that he travelled 42,000 miles ; he ex- 
pended more than £30,000, and the day which is to 
lay bare the secrets of all hearts will show what 
blessings he scattered — what tears he dried — what 
debts he paids — what criminals he reclaimed — what 
living charnel-houses he swept and garnished during 
these self-immolating exertions. Everywhere, ex- 
cept at the Bastile in France, and in the Inquisition 
in Spain, he was allowed free access to the criminal, 
and even these he was enabled to penetrate at last 
oy the ascendant which his wondrous character gave 
him over men. 

IN or was he without his reward, even from men. 
H p < received the thanks of his country, through the 



104 REWARDS. 

House of Commons, for his great exertions >n be- 
half of the victims of crime. His publications were 
hailed with unusual applause, Men delighted to 
honor him whom grace had enabled to dignify our 
fallen nature ; and at one period large subscriptions 
were raised to erect a monument to his honor, 
though he resolutely and with tears implored his 
friends to abandon the proposal. His reward was 
in his work, and his monument, the expurgated or 
reformed prisons of all Europe, and part of Asia. 
He became, moreover, the companion of princes in 
the countries where he travelled. Emperors sought 
his society and his counsel. Even the Pope was 
anxious to do honor to Howard, heretic as he was, 
while Catharine of Russia invited him to her Court 
— an honor which he at once declined, for it was the 
dungeon, and not the palace, that was the scene of 
his employments. Some of our own princes of the 
blood added to their dignity by their intercourse 
with the hero of mercy. In a word, wherever he 
moved, men rejoiced to do him honor. Potentates 
waived their mindless or humiliating etiquette to 
enable the great but simple-minded man to approach 
them with the erect bearing which he would not 
forego ; and though his exposure of their corrupt 
systems was always honest, nay, sometimes even 
vehement, the moral dignity of the man was every- 
where felt ; it made him a king even over those 
who wore a diadem or wielded a sceptre. 

But the copestone has not yet been put on tne 



THE COMPANION OF PRINCES. 165 

procedure of the philanthropist. He was familiar 
now with ihe abominations of prisons of every class, 
and in many lands ; but there was one enemy of 
man — the plague — with which he had not yet grap- 
pled in any very formidable form ; and in 1785, he 
set out — alone — to study its nature, with a view to 
some remedy or relief. His purpose was to pro- 
ceed to the East, there to embark in some infected 
ship, to perform quarantine in some plague lazar- 
etto, and meet that enemy of man in its strongest 
hold. Purpose and performance were with How- 
ard synonymous, and the daring experiment was 
made. His own life was imperilled that he might 
devise the means of benefiting others. The diffi- 
culties which he had to encounter were inexpress- 
ible, but he surmounted them all ; and in due time 
Europe was familiar with the abominations of the 
lazaretto, while the apostle of humanity reared an- 
other trophy to celebrate the power of that grace, 
and the guidance of that wisdom, which made him 
what he was. He became familiar indeed with 
agony in every form, and saw more clearly than 
mortal eyes had ever done before, that the wages 
of sin are too surely death. But in his work he 
found a rich reward. It was so similar to that of 
the Redeemer, that this lowly apostle walked in the 
radiance which is shed by Him in whom men like 
Howard, with an eye illumined from heaven, behold 
the brightness of the Father's glory. He had fel- 
Io\r ship with the Saviour in his joys. 



]t)6 THE HEAVIEST WOE. 

Nor was home neglected by Howaro While 
he lay in the lazaretto at Venice, he wrote to his 
bailiff at Cardington, his home in Bedfordshiie, and 
the following is an extract : — " At Christmas give 
Mrs. Thompson and Beccles each a guinea ; Rayner 
what I usually give him, half a guinea, and if not 
given last Christmas, then a guinea ; Dolly Basset. 
a guinea ; the blind man's widow, half a guinea ; 
and five guineas to ten poor widows, that is, to each 
half a guinea where you think it will be most ac- 
ceptable. Scarcely anything but this was needed to 
complete the symmetry of Howard's character. 
His was not the philanthropy which stalks abroad 
only in the glare of publicity, and solicits the gaze 
of man. He did good by stealth — he wrote from 
a lazar-house to order money to be given to the blind 
and the widowed. The magnificent and the minute 
were united in him, and completed the blessedness 
of one who knew so well the luxnry of doing good. 

Were it our purpose to give a detailed account of 
the life of Howard, we might now proceed to tell 
of the sorrows which he endured from the miscon- 
duct of his son. Amid many advantages, that youth 
became lost to all sense of decency. His father's 
woe was nothing to him : onward he rushed in the 
broad road which goes down to death, unwarned and 
irreclaimable, till he died of disease produced cr 
fostered by his own sinful ways. We might also 
show the misery which that occasioned to the devot- 
ed man, as he decended into the grave in a foreign 






DEATH VANQUISHED. 167 

land ; and so add another to the examples which ex- 
ist to show, that godly parents are often heart- 
broken by the wickedness of their children. Or we 
might show the philanthropist engaged in a naval bat- 
tie, w T hen the ship in which he sailed was attacked 
by a Barbary privateer, and tell how boldly he fought 
to repel the attack. Or we might show how How- 
ard once quelled a mutiny in the Savoy, and sub- 
dued two hundred mutineers by his own heroic 
bravery. But we must pass on to show how this ben- 
efactor of mankind closed his mortal career. 

Howard entered on his last journey on behalf of 
the wretched with a presentiment that he might die 
before its close. He parted with some of his friends, 
observing, " We shall soon meet in heaven ;" and ad- 
ded, "the w r ay to heaven from Grand Cairo is as near 
as from London ;" and under the solemnizing effect 
of such convictions, he proceeded on his way. Cher- 
son, on the Dneiper, was destined to be his last rest- 
ing place. He there caught a fever w T hile pursuing 
his benevolent designs, and no skill could prolong 
his life. But while looking into the grave, in a land 
of strangers, he retained his resigned trust in his 
God with most edifying composure. " 1 am faint 
and low," he said, "yet, I trust, in the right way." 
Why should I distrust this good and faithful God 1 
In his Word he has said, ' In all thy ways acknowl- 
edge him, and he will direct thy path.' Lord, leave 
me not to my own wisdom, which is folly ; nor to 
my own strength, which is weakness." "Death 



168 DEATH OF HOWARD. 

has no terrors to me," he said to a friend ; " it is an 
event I always look to with cheerfulness, if not with 
pleasure ; and be assured the subject is more grate- 
ful to me than any other." He pointed out the 
spot for his grave, and gave directions regarding Lis 
burial, adding, " Lay me quietly in the earth, place 
a sun-dial over my grave, and let me be forgotten." 
His wayward son was much on his heart during his 
closing hours, and the thoughts connected with him 
were the only thing that saddened the death-bed of 
Howard. He was fifteen hundred miles from his 
home. Strangers stood around his bed, waiting to 
close his dying eye, and lay him in the grave ; but 
that did not touch him — it was the wretchedness of 
his boy. Had not that youth scattered firebrands, 
arrows, and death, when he thus madly occasioned 
the woe of a dying parent ! 

The death of Howard was lamented as an Euro- 
pean loss. The sorrow spread round the civilized 
world ; and perhaps there never was a man carried 
to the narrow house amid more general or more un- 
feigned regret. Three thousand slaves, prisoners, 
sailors, soldiers, peasants, joined in the mournful 
procession which accompanied him to the tomb, be- 
cause they had lost their best benefactor. Not a 
dry eye was there, and the man who had loved and 
labored for all was seen to have been enthroned in 
the hearts of myriads. A monument in St. Paul's 
cathedral was soon erected to Howard, and the court, 
the press, the pulpit, and the bar, alike did honor to 



A BEACON. 169 

Mis memory in his native land. So richly did he 
reap from man. 

Now, surely youth may here read, in characters 
of lignt, how glad and how pleasant it is early to 
choose the good way of Gxi. Wtec we early sow 
the good seed of the kingdom, we are sometimes 
privileged to gather the fruit with our own hand, 
even in this distempered world. Howard, the father, 
modelled his life on the example which God pre- 
sents, and died honored, lamented, revered by mill- 
ions. Howard, the son, took the world for his 
model ; he plunged into the world's sins, and died 
at. an early age, a moral and a physical wreck — a 
drivelling idiot — a self-destroyed youth, corrupted 
and corrupting. Say again, then, is not the way of 
transgressors a hard one ? Surely if aught but the 
grace of God could touch the heart of man, the 
contrast between this father and this son, in their 
life and their death, might serve as a beacon and a 
guide ! 

15 



CHAPTER XIII, 

THE MISSIONARY. 

There is a mother standing by an altar in an an- 
tique chapel in Cappadocia. She bears an infant in 
her arms whom she has brought to the house of 
God, to place his little hands upon the Holy Scrip- 
tures, which few could then examine, except in a 
church, and in that attitude to dedicate him to a 
heavenly Father's service. It was Nonna, the 
mother of Gregory of Nazianzum. Her husband 
was then a heathen ; but she, like Hannah, had 
dedicated her child to God, and was there to pay 
her vow. It was registered in heaven ; for that 
child grew to be a shining light in the church of 
Christ, at a time when corruptions were fast becom- 
ing rife. 

We are now to glance at the history of one who 
was early dedicated, in a similar spirit, to God ; and 
to trace through his life how that act of dedication 
was blessed. Christian Frederick Swartz was 
born in what is now the kingdom of Prussia, in the 
year 1726. His mother died during his infancy ; 
but on her death-bed she solemnly devoted her boy 
to God, and as solemnly told her husband and pas- 



CHRISTIAN FREDERICK SWARTZ. 171 

tor what she had done. She exacted a promise 
from each that little Christian should be reared in 
the remembrance of his high destination ; so that, 
from the edge of the grave, and in sight of eternity, 
her soul was exercised regarding the welfare of the 
church on earth, where she had been trained for the 
joys of the church on high. How, then, did the boy 
thus early dedicated to God, thus early blessed b) 
a mother's prayers and a mother's dying- lips, act in 
future years 1 Was he one of those who mock at 
such prayers, and delight to turn their answer away ; 
or was he one of those who rejoice to act as if their 
parent's eye were still upon them ? Did he sow 
well, and therefore reap well 1 or did he sow the 
wind, and reap the whirlwind, as thousands of the 
young are daily doing, in spite of every warning ? 

At the early age of eight, the boy Swartz had so 
far found out what it is to be truly wise, that he was 
in the habit of frequently retiring from his young 
companions, to be alone with God, and there to pour 
out his heart's desire in prayer. He found a bless- 
ing in that exercise ; and when conscious of having 
done what was wrong, he never could regain his 
peace until he had implored forgiveness from Him 
who marks iniquity. He was not at all times 
equally alive to the importance of these things, but 
even his young soul found its best portion in the 
favor of God. — It was a work by Augustus Herman 
Francke w r hich proved the turning point of Swartz's 
history. He was about sixteen years of age when 



172 THE BETTER PART CHOSEN. 

he read it ; and though he confesses that worldly 
motives often influenced his conduct, still, his soul 
was now obviously in progress towards the chief 
good. Providential circumstances helped him on 
his way. The strictness and the homeliness of 
his father's system of training had laid a firm foun- 
dation for excellence ; and intercourse with some 
devoted men at once encouraged and enlightened the 
youth. He was confirmed by them in his determi- 
nation to devote himself to God ; and thus a career 
began which will never have an end — Swartz be- 
came one of those who are to shine as the stars for- 
ever and ever, and his lustre was brighter far than 
that of 

" The starry lights of genius." 

It was when he was about twenty-two years of 
age that Swartz determined on becoming a mission- 
ary to the heathen. He dreaded, at first, the oppo- 
sition of his father ; but He who holds the hearts of 
all men in his hands, turned that father's heart to 
favor the purpose of his son. He gave the youth 
his blessing, and bade him to depart in God's name, 
" charging him to forget his native country and his 
father's house, and to go and win many souls to 
Christ"— a commission which young Swartz, in some 
j'espeets, discharged to the letter. 

He arrived in India in the year 1750, and in less 
than four months after his arrival, he was able to 
preach in Tamil to the natives of Hindostan. Lov- 



THE POWER OF LOVE. 173 

mg the Redeemer first and supremely, he also loved 
the souls for which he died. That made self-denial 
light ; it stimulated him to unwearying diligence ; 
and he soon began to proclaim to others what he had 
felt to be glad tidings of great joy to himself. At 
a time when few cared for the souls of the he i\ hen 
— nay, when some regarded it as foolish to attempt 
their conversion to Christ at all, this man of God 
took his life in his hand ; he hazarded it for the name 
of Jesus, and proceeded to do as John the Baptist 
did when he proclaimed, " Behold the Lamb of God, 
who taketh away the sins of the world." 

Such was, briefly, the seed-time of Swartz's life. 
He sowed well, for the good seed of the kingdom 
had taken deep root in his heart. It had already 
begun to produce fruit unto holiness. And how did 
he reap ? We have seen the early rain falling to 
refresh and fertilize. When the latter rain was 
given, how did Swartz gather into the garner ? 

He could have lingered at home, and eaten the 
bread of indolence. 

He could have turned a deaf ear to the cry of the 
perishing heathen, even when a voice had reached 
his heart on their behalf. 

He could have devolved upon others the duty 
which God laid upon him. 

But Swartz did none of these things. As " the 

Son of Man had come to seek and to save the lost,'"' 

this devoted man went forth to gather t\e lost into 

the fold. In season and out of season ^or nearly 

15* 



174 HYDER ALL 

fifty years, did he plead with dying men ; and as 
he honored God, Swartz was honored by Him. 
Humble missionary as he was, and simple in all hi 9 
habits, he was honored to become the counsellor of 
kings ; insomuch that it seems as if the fate of 
large portions of India had sometimes depended on 
his word. While he had reason to say, " My soul 
doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced 
in God my Saviour," his friendship was sought — he 
was even courted and caressed, by the princes of 
India. Mahommed Ali, the Nabob of the Carnatic, 
and even that scourge of Southern India, the terrible 
Hyder Ali, delighted to do honor to Swartz. He 
was accustomed to mediate between rival princes ; 
and again and again did the British Government in 
India rely upon the wisdom of the missionary, or 
even exalt him, as far as he would be exalted, to 
places of honor in its councils. His sagacity, his 
wide experience, his calm temper, and constant self- 
possession, pointed him out as at once deserving of 
confidence, and fitted to sway the minds of others. 
" We are convinced that you will act disinterest 
edly," said the Governor of Madras to Swartz, when 
asking him to undertake a mission of peace to Hy- 
der Ali, " and will not allow any one to bribe you." 
In other words, men could confide in a Christian 
who confided in God ; but as to others, it was known 
from sad experience, that as there was no fear of 
God before their eyes, no trust could be reposed in 
them by their fellow-men. 



LABORS OF LOVE. 175 

In the month of June 1780, Hyder Ali invaded 
the Carnatic with an army of nearly one hundred 
thousand men. Ruin and desolation were spread 
through some of the fairest provinces of India, and 
men were roused from their supineness only by the 
columns of smoke and flame which that fierce war- 
rior kindled in the very neighborhood of Madras. 
In consequence of these ravages, thousands died of 
want. Desolated villages and piles of corpses were 
seen on every side ; and how was the missionary 
Swartz employed amid such scenes % He had pur- 
chased twelve thousand bushels of rice, and with 
that he fed his dependants and many others. 
Twice he was employed to find provisions for starv- 
ing garrisons, and he succeeded. He soothed the 
feelings of the people, and appeared as a guardian 
angel at the very time that war was depopulating 
villages, and consigning thousands to woe. For 
seventeen months Swartz continued that labor of 
love, and often as many as eight hundred were as- 
sembled in a day to partake of the humble mission- 
ary's bounty. Even Hyder Ali, blood-thirsty as he 
was, and the pledged enemy of the British name, 
was awed by the deportment of Swartz ; and amid 
a cruel and desolating career, he issued an order to 
his officers " to permit the venerable father, Swartz, 
to pass unmolested, and to show him respect and 
kindness ; for he is a holy man, and means no harm 
to my government." He had spent five years in 
acquiring a knowledge of the Hindoo sacred books, 



176 TRICHINOPOLY. 

that he might know the avenues to the hearts of the 
people. He studied the English language, that he 
might be able to preach the Gospel to British sol 
diers and others ; and the effects which Swartz wa? 
blessed to produce in mitigating the atrocities of 
war, formed part of his reward. 

The town of Triehinopoly, in India, ranks amony 
the most remarkable in that land of death. Its 
mosques, where the followers of Mahomet worship 
— its palace and gardens — above all, its stupendous 
rock of granite, rising to the height of four hundred 
and fifty feet, within the fort, all combine to signal- 
ize it. From that rock the view is one of the rich- 
est in the world. The branches of the fertilizing 
Cavery, and Seringham, with its gigantic pyramids, 
and vast pagoda, would all be glorious things in the 
eye of man, could he forget that they are stained by 
idolatry, and perverted to minister to man's rebel- 
lion against his God. But amid that lovely scene 
profaned and polluted by men, far nobler sighU 
were about to be displayed — Swartz chose it for hii 
nome, and the beauties of holiness soon appearec 
as the result of his labors. There and elsewhere h< 
could record such glacl tidings as the following : — 
" I have baptized twenty-five adults in the course oi 
this year, and received several Roman Catholic/ 

into the protestant Church We ex 

hort one another, and trust that God will, according 
to his goodness, permit us to behold with rejoicing 
the days of harvest." "Swartz has been the harp} 



THE SPIRITUAL HARVEST. 17*7 

instrument," records one, " of making many, both 
of the military and of the natives, converts to true 
Christianity, . . . . in the genuine spirit of the gos- 
pel of Christ." "His converts," another says, 
" were between six and seven thousand ;" and 
though only a tenth of these had been really renew- 
ed by the Spirit of God, all who know the price of 
a Redeemed soul — the blood of the lamb of God — 
will confess that as Swartz sowed well, he reaped 
well ; he early gave himself to God, and God bless- 
ed him, and made him a blessing. " His garden 
was filled from morning till late in the evening with 
natives of every rank, who came to him to have 
their differences settled." In brief, he redeemed 
the British name from the degradation to which it 
was exposed, in the eyes even of heathens, by the 
conduct of many of our countrymen in India. The 
imputation of general depravity was then too well 
deserved; but Swartz retrieved the character which 
many appeared anxious to tarnish. At the same 
time, it was the truth of God which regulated his 
conduct; and on one occasion, when a book of Ser- 
mons by Dr. Price, in which the Redeemer was not 
honored as the Word of God teaches us to do, was 
sent to Swartz, he cut the volume in pieces, and 
buried it in the earth. He felt that it destroyed the 
foundation of happiness and true holiness, and he 
therefore interred it out of sight. In one word, 
" The Christian" was Swartz's title even among the 
heathen — as if they knew what a Christian should 



178 THE BAN FAN TREE. 

be, but had never seen one in India except him- 
self. 

The ban yan-tree, it is well known, grows to a mag- 
nificent size in India. From the main stem there 
shoots out one set of branches which take root in 
the earth, grow up, and then shoot out another set 
of branches, to take root and shoot out another set 
in their turn, till the arcades or alleys formed by the 
majestic parent tree resemble the aisles in a vast ca- 
thedral. Swartz loved the delicious shade of the 
banyan ; and the simple-minded man might some- 
times be found in that graceful temple, reared by 
God's own hand, surrounded by groups of listeners, 
as he told of the true God, the true incarnation, the 
true atonement, and the true salvation. The inco- 
herent fables of Brahma and Sheva were there con- 
fronted with the glorious truths of God. In these 
things lay the secret of Swartz's power, and under 
that wide-spread tree Swartz often planted in the 
minds of men the incorruptible seed — the word of 
the Lord, which endureth for ever. 

But Swartz moved much among far other scenes. 
The Rajah of Tanjore, for example, had been a gay 
voluptuary in his youth, and his closing years were 
in consequence years of woe. He also sowed to 
the flesh, and reaped in misery, as few had ever 
done. He lost, in succession, his son, his daughter,, 
and his grandson ; so that the Rajah Tuljajee, though 
inhabiting a palace, ranked among the most wretch- 
ed of the sons of men. Swartz had often proclaim- 



THE WAGES OF SIN. 179 

ed the Gospel to him, and told of the consolations 
which its God alone can impart. But the prince 
disliked these things ; he preferred the world, and 
found — as every sinner sooner or later finds — that 
he could not gather grapes from thorns, nor figs 
from thistles — nay, woe and unsoothed misery were 
his lot. He became the oppressor of his people 
and a curse to the province over which he reigned. 
He had turned away from the light, and he was left 
in darkness. He had refused to follow where God 
would have led him, and the Rajah therefore lay 
down in sorrow. Now, Swartz was empowered to 
interpose his good offices to mitigate the miseries 
of that province. Sixty -five thousand had fled, to 
escape from the tyrant's oppression ; and of these 
seven thousand returned as soon as Swartz inter- 
fered, so greatly was he honored and trusted even 
by heathen men. 

Nor was this all. Tuljajee was anxious to adopt 
a son, and make him his successor on his throne, ac- 
cording to the Eastern custom. He sent for Swartz 
on that occasion, and said, in language which indi- 
cates how honored and how revered God had made 
his missionary servant : " This is not my son," was 
the Rajah's address to Swartz, " This is not my son, 
but yours ; into your hand I deliver him." The 
missionary replied, " May this child be a child of 
God ;" and at a subsequent interview, that youth 
was formally given over to the care of Swartz. 
That humble man from a remote town in Prussia, 



180 THE GAIN OF GODLINESS. 

thus became the guardian of an Indian prince. His 
God placed him over one who might have had the 
power of life or death over thousands. In short, 
Swartz was exalted to sit with princes, for " godli- 
ness has the promise of the life that now is, as well 
as of that which is to come." 

But the close of a man's earthly career often tests 
his true condition better than his life ; and how did 
Swartz reap when he was about to enter on the val- 
ley of the shadow of death ? 

He had said, " The atonement of Jesus is the 
foundation of my hope, peace, love, and happiness." 

He had added, " Though I am covered all over 
with sin, the blood of Jesus cleanses me from all 
mine iniquities, and sets my heart at rest." 

Or deeper still, he said, " Though I am a corrupt- 
ed creature, the Spirit of Jesus enlightens, cheers, 
and strengthens us to hate and abominate all sin." 

And rising in the confidence of unwavering faith, 
he proceeded — " Though the day of judgment is ap- 
proaching, the love of God comforts us so far as to 
have boldness to appear before our Judge, not as if 
we were innocent creatures, but because we are par- 
doned, washed, and cleansed in the blood of Christ." 
And since these truths were the place of his rest 
while he lived, how did Swartz die ? 

The last days of his life were some of his best. 
He gave an animating example of faith, and pa- 
tience, and hope, and often spoke of the repose and 
peace of mind which he enjoyed by the mercy of 



A GOOD MAN'S MONUMENT. 181 

God through Christ. " That the Lord Jesus has re- 
ceived me, forgiven my sins, and has not entered 
into judgment with me, is well for me, and T praise 
him/' — were some of his closing words : and when 
he departed, his friends tell that " his triumphant 
death, and the evident traces of sweetness and com- 
posure which were left on his countenance," pre- 
vented the outbreak of their sorrow, and prompted 
rather their praise. Courted as he had been by 
princes, reverenced almost to adoration by the peo- 
ple, and honored even by the British government in 
India, his humility never forsook him. All had been 
subordinated to the great objects of a missionary's 
life — the winning of souls to Christ — and he was 
not forsaken in his hour of need. " The cause of 
Christ is my heir," was Swartz's will, as intimated 
on his death -bed ; and that cause had been his very 
life. In short, some of the words on his tomb in 
India may well sum up the results of the fruit of 
Swartz life -long sowing : " Beloved and honored by 
Europeans" — " The poor and the injured looked up 
to him as an unfailing friend and advocate" — " The 
great and powerful concurred in yielding him the 
highest homage ever paid, in this quarter of the 
globe, to European virtue. The late Hycler Ali 
Cawn, in the midst of a bloody and vindictive war 
with the Carnatic, sent orders to his officers to per- 
mit the venerable father Swartz to pass unmolested, 
and show him respect and kindness, for he is a holy 
mar''' — "The East India Company are anxious to 
16 



182 A YOUTH SELF-EUINED. 

perpetuate the memory of such transcendent wow; n 
— Such is the testimony borne by some who do not 
always defer to Christian principle ; and when we 
turn from these things to the exceeding weight of 
glory which Swartz, through grace, inherited, we 
have seen enough to tell how good and how pleas- 
ant it is to set the Lord before us. Early did 
Swartz begin to sow. He continued sowing the in- 
destructible seed all along his path. He took care 
to plant it deeply in his own soul, and, tended by 
Him who is like the dew to Israel, he gathered as 
he had strewed. Good measure, pressed down and 
running over, was meted out to him by the Lord 
of the believer's harvest ; and is not this the heart's 
desire at the contemplation of such a career and 
such a close, — " Let me die the death of the right- 
eous, and let my latter end be like his ?" 

But let us try to throw in some dark shading be- 
hind this sketch of Swartz the missionary, to deepen 
its effect upon the minds of the young. Instead of 
living as he did, in India — for God and his glory, 
there are thousands of our countrymen there ena- 
moured of folly, and wholly given over to iniquity. 
A young officer, for example — one of the thought- 
less crowd who resort to that land for wealth or 
fame, and find only an early grave — was dying, and 
Swartz was summoned to visit him. That youth 
had found out at last what it is to forsake the foun 
tain of living water — he had discovered that all that 
India contains was a bauble in comparison ot .his 



A. GRAVE NOT GLORY, THE SINNER^ LOT. 183 

soul. In Swartz's words : " He now felt what it 
was to be immersed in the lusts of the flesh, by 
which both body and soul are ruined. He prayed 
and he wept :" and adds the missionary : " The 
wretchedness of many young people here is difficult 
to be described. Of such, how many are in a- short 
space removed into eternity ! They arrive in this 
country to make, as it is called, their fortunes, and 
usually go down to the grave under circumstances 
sorrowful indeed." That tender-hearted missionary 
saw that youth about to be confronted w r ith his God, 
after having outraged his laws. He went to India 
seeking gold or glory, but he found only misery and 
a grave ; and Swartz felt more for such misguided 
souls, and that in a far deeper sense, than most of 
them do for themselves. He saw that they were 
filled with the fruits of their own devices. They 
preferred the curse to the blessing, and they obtain- 
ed it. Their life-long business was to fight against 
God, and they were crushed in the hopeless struggle. 
They had taken fire to their bosom, and were scorch- 
ed. And surely, surely if parents who profess to 
love God and their own offspring, loved them with 
an intelligent affection, they would hesitate before 
they send their youth to India, inexperienced, ignor- 
ant, and ready to be the dupes of every deception 
which sin practises on the soul ; where their bones 
too often lie bleaching under a tropical sun, and 
where souls, as far as man can judge, are hurried into 
an eternity for which no provision has been made. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE POET. 



William Cowper is one of the few among the 
sons of men whom all love and all are disposed to 
praise. We do not recollect a harsh sentiment 
against himself, or a severe criticism on his poetry, 
from any recent quarter. Whether it was the gen- 
tleness of his nature, or his protracted sorrows, or 
his exquisitely truthful poetry, or all combined, that 
occasioned it, the fact is certain, that for half a cen- 
tury, the eulogy of nearly all who can read the Eng- 
lis language has been awarded to the memory of 
Cowper. 

He was a poet whom the young should early be- 
gin to read. Who would not like to know what was 
said and written by the author of " John Gilpin ? M 
Who would not wish to be familiar with the man who 
was so kind and gentle to his tame hares and rab- 
bits, to his dog, to his goldfinch and bullfinch, his 
starlings, jays, and squirrels — to everything, in short, 
which had beauty or life in it % Above all, who 
would not like to know the history of him who sang 
so sweetly of his m )ther, when he said — 



WILLIAM COWPER. 185 

"Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid?" 

Let us try, then, to lead some of the young to an 
acquaintance with AVilliam Cowper ; and in doing 
so, we attempt to show, first, his deportment in early 
youth, or the seed-time of his life, and then his re- 
ward in its autumn, when the hair grew hoary, and 
when the step w T as tottering and infirm. 

He was a feeble, sickly boy, and needed no little 
care. From his father's house — the parsonage of 
Great Berkhamstead, in Hertfordshire — he was 

" Drawn to school along the public way, 
Delighted with his bauble coach ;" 

but when the period came at which the tender boy 
was to be sent to a more advanced seminary, disease 
interrupted his progress, and when he was at length 
able to be sent to school, he suffered much from his 
school-fellows. His mother Avas now in the grave. 
He had none who could watch over him as she had 
done, and the oppression which he endured at school 
not merely made him wretched then, but helped, 
perhaps, to confirm diseases which afterwards made 
him more wretched still. " I will not fear w T hat man 
can do unto me," was a portion of the psalms which 
strengthened him, he says, amid these early w^oes ; 
but he often deeply lamented that he had not learned 
to make more ample use of the Word of God. 

While a boy at school, Cowper once had occasion 
to pass through a neighboring churchyard at the even- 
16* 



186 LESSONS FKOM A SKULL. 

ing twilight, while a gravecligger was at work by the 
glimmer of a lamp. The youth was attracted to the 
spot by the light, and as the laborer among skel- 
etons threw up the earth from the grave, a skull 
struck Cowper's limb while he gazed on the work- 
man. He says that "it was an alarm to his con- 
science," so that even then he was forced to think of 
death. He began to pray in secret, though he con- 
fesses that he soon found it to be irksome, as all must 
do w r ho do not know that God — God in Christ — is the 
hearer and answerer, of prayer. " At length," he 
says, " I betook myself to God in prayer. Such is 
the rank which our Redeemer holds in our esteem — 
never resorted to but in the last instance, w T hen all 
creatures have failed to succor us. My hard heart 
was at length softened, and my stubborn knees 
brought to bow r . 1 composed a set of prayers, and 
made frequent use of them. Weak as my faith was, 
the Almighty, who will not break the bruised reed, 
nor quench the smoking flax, was graciously pleased 
to hear me." 

During an illness which then preyed on Cowper's 
mind, change of scene was recommended, and he re- 
sorted to one of the fairest spots of our island, on 
an arm of the sea near Southampton. " Here it 
was," he says, " that on a sudden, as if another sun 
had been kindled that instant in the heavens, on 
purpose to dispel sorrow and vexation of spirit, I 
felt the weight of all my misery taken off; my heart 
became light and joyful in a moment ; I could have 



THE DISCONSOLATE YOUTH. 187 

wept w<th transport had I been alone." But this 
impression also faded away, and Cowper tells that 
he got back to the world after all. He acknowl- 
edges, however, that the Father of mercies had, in 
a measure, heard and answered his prayers. En- 
ticed or encouraged by ungodly companions, Cow- 
per fell, and was wretched ; but he blesses the grace 
of Gocl that he was not left unchecked, unwarned, 
un suffering. 

Most of these things took place while Cowper 
was a student of law, but the shyness of his nature, 
and the delicacy of his frame, were barriers to his 
prosecuting that profession, so that, like many others, 
he felt great difficulty in deciding what should be 
the business of his life. Amid his perplexity he had 
reason to say — 

" Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown, 
See me neglected on the world's wide coast, 
Each dear companion of my voyage lost ;" 

yet all had not forsaken Cowper. He was appoint- 
ed to an office which connected him with the House 
of Lords, but as it required him to read in public, the 
mere thought of doing so was too much for his 
sensitive nature. He shrank from man's contact, 
and had soon to resign his office, or exchange it for 
another. His character gradually became becloud- 
ed with melancholy. " He lay down in horror, and 
rose up in despair ;" and reason at length broke 
do^n, so that to attempt his duties was an intoler- 



188 RELIGION PERVERTED WOE THE RESULT. 

able burden. Mental derangement, in short, was 
the result, and the genius of William Cowper was. 
for some time, thus early obscured to a degree 
which led to some of the heaviest calamities which 
can afflict humanity. 

And let the young mark it well— some say that 
it was religion which made Cowper gloomy, but it 
was religion perverted. Not the religion of Jesus — 
not the truth of God — not the glad tidings of great 
joy : these can never make man sad, unless he 
madly determine to continue in sin. But Cowper 
thought that God had cut him off from hope. He 
fancied that there was nothing before him but con- 
demnation and despair. He would not believe that 
God is love. His mind was so depressed, or dis- 
turbed by disease, that he could not receive God's 
own declaration, that He has no delight in the death 
of him that dies. Poor Cowper, in short, did not 
understand the religion of the Son of God, which is 
mercy to the chief of sinners, if they will take it as 
God offers it. He had forgotten that that religion 
came from heaven to make man blessed again, to 
renew his youth like the eagle's, and fit him for the 
home where men never grow old — and because 
Cowper forgot that, he was unhappy ; his religion 
only made him wretched, as the religion of Jesus 
makes all men wretched who think that God is not 
a God of kindness and compassion, of tender mercy 
and love. 

And what was it that cleared away the darkness. 



REASON RESTORED BY TRUTH. 189 

that restored Cowper's joy, and made him at length 
a child of light indeed ? It was the words, " Whom 
God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith 
in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the re- 
mission of sins that are past, through the forbearance 
of God." Conscience was satisfied by that, and 
reason was now set right. The whole so id was 
made glad ; in other words, Cowper just believed 
what God said, and the man heretofore so depress- 
ed, and dark-souled, and self-condemned, became 
happy, and free, and serene. Is liberty a gladden- 
ing thing to the prisoner'? Cowper now entered 
upon the enjoyment of freedom. Is health a glad- 
dening thing to the sick ? That also was imparted 
to the mind of Cowper. Is hope to the despairing, 
is rest to the weary, is home to the exile, a source 
of joy 1 In all these Cowper rejoiced ; and he could 
now say, " Return to thy rest, O my soul, for the 
Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee." The Gos- 
pel became a source of pleasure, and in due time it 
was to become the grand topic, or at least the di- 
recting power, of his poetry. " O, the fever of the 
brain !." he once exclaimed ; but that fever left him, 
and the peace of God then kept his heart and mind. 
" Next to life itself," he added, " I esteem the loss 
of my reason the greatest blessing I ever received 
from the Divine bounty." It led him to prize the 
Saviour as all-sufficient, and when that is the result, 
all is well. " Blessed be God," William Cowper 
once exclaimed, " even the God who is become my 



190 THE REFUGE OF LIES DESTROYED, 

salvation— the hail of affliction and rebuke for *h? 
has swept away the refuge of lies. It pleased the 
Almighty to set all my misdeeds before me. At 
length the storm being past, a quiet and peaceful 
serenity of soul succeeded, such as ever attends the 
gift of living faith in the all-sufficient atonement, 
and the sweet sense of mercy and pardon purchased 
by the blood of Christ." That is the rock of the 
sinner's confidence ; and dwelling there, he is safe 
beyond the reach of evil. 

It would be pleasing to tell the happiness which 
this man now enjoyed in the friendship of God, as 
his God and portion ; how those whom the Bible 
calls " the excellent of the earth" clustered around 
him as one whom they loved, and how in his poems 
he found his own soul made glad, because he sought 
the highest good and happiness of others. It is true 
that his days of darkness returned, and long con- 
tinued to lour above his gentle nature. No effort 
of man could free him from the gloom, and neither 
in nature nor in grace could he find anything that 
could alleviate his sorrow. But, amid it all, there 
are gleams of blessedness breaking forth to show 
that it was disease that was now the cause of trou- 
ble to Cowper. His mind was disordered on the 
greatest of all topics — the ground of his acceptance 
with Gocl. Hence his woe, though even then he was 
able to counsel and to comfort others. He obsti- 
nately put away the goodness of God from himself, 
though he could pour it forth in rich abundance 



THE TRUTH, AND ITS POWER. 101 

upon all around him, insomuch that he was sorrow- 
ing, jet alway rejoicing. In short, that God who 
chooses his people in the furnace was watching ove* 
Cowper there, and he might have said — 

" Before thy mystic altar, heavenly Truth, 
I kneel in manhood, as I knelt in youth ; 
Thus let me kneel till this dull form decay, \ 

And life's last shade be brightened by thy ray; 
Then shall my soul, now lost in clouds below, 
Soar without bound, without consuming, glow." 

How, then, did William Cow.per reap at last % 
We have seen how deep and how long the furrows 
were. We have watched how he sowed with many 
tears — the result must be full of instruction, and 
how full, he himself shall tell. 

" Jesus is a present Saviour from the guilt of sin 
by his most precious blood, and from the power of 
it by his Spirit." That was one declaration of the 
poet, and such things he called " the very life of his 
soul, and the soul of all his happiness." 

" Corrupt in ourselves, in Him, and in Him only 
we are complete," was another, and in that he found 
repose for his soul, even in the prospect of meeting 
God on the great white throne. 

" Being united to Jesus by a lively faith, we have 
a solid and eternal interest in His obedience and 
sufferings to justify us before the face of our heav- 
enly Father" — that was another ; and thus Cowper 
had an anchor cast within the veil, so that he could 
ride out every storm. 



192 AN ANCHOR WITHIN THE VEIL. 

" All is given, freely given, to us of God ; in 
short, Jesus hath opened the kingdom of heaven to 
all believers" — that was another conviction ; and pil- 
lowed upon that truth, he could sleep as calmly as 
unsuspecting childhood amid a hundred dangers. 
These truths — and truths like these, he says, he held 
to " be clearer to him than life itself" — and adds, 
" They shall ever be placed next my heart, as the 
throne wheieon the Saviour shall sit, to sway all its 
emotions, and reduce that world of iniquity and re- 
bellion to a state of filial and affectionate obedience 
to the will of the Most Holy." 

These, then, were the elements of Cowper's hap- 
piness — they constituted the ripe fruits of his har- 
vest. 

These set up the kingdom of God in his soul. 

These made him like-minded with God himself. 

These made him a partaker of the very peace of 
God ; and reposing on the promises, which are truth 
itself in Jesus Christ, this gifted yet much tried 
man, was made a partaker of the Divine nature, an 
heir of God, a joint-heir with Christ. Who expects 
ever to reap a more ample reward, or receive, in 
this life at least, aught more fitted to bless and sat- 
isfy the soul ? With the son of God for a portion, 
who can long for more ? Alexander, whom men 
call the Great, wept when he had conquered the 
world, because he had not another to conquer, but. 
had he been taught to bring that " little world," the 
heart, to God, the conqueror would have learned to 



"alway rejoicing." 193 

subdue it, and then not tears but rapture would 
have followed the conquest. 

It is true, Cowper's closing scene was not thus 
made glad. " He was put to bed in the dark" by 
his heavenly Father ; but the morning was the 
brighter, and the exceeding weight of glory the 
more welcome to his spirit, when he reached his 
heavenly home. He once exclaimed, " Blessed be 
the God of my salvation for every sigh I drew, for 
every tear I shed, since thus it pleased Him to judge 
me here, that I might not be judged hereafter !" 
and how much more loud would the exclamation be 
amid the anthems and acclamations of heaven ! 
" Unless the Almighty arm had been under me," he 
once wrote concerning his soul, " I think I should 
have died with gratitude and joy. My eyes filled 
with tears, and my voice choked with transport ; I 
could only look up to heaven in silent fear, over- 
whelmed with love and wonder." It was in the 
emancipation which the Gospel brings that William 
Cowper thus rejoiced ; and was it not thirty -fold, 
sixty-fold, an hundred fold, for all the tears which 
he had shed ? " The very name of Jesus made 
tears of penitence and joy to flow." " To rejoice 
day and night was all his employment." In the 
nouse of God, in the field, in quiet retirement, and 
A n lonely places, Cowper was still praising God, and 
in studying his life as a believer, while reason was 
lucid, one is prompted to say of him, what he once 
beautifully said to an earnest worshipper beside him 
17 



194 LORD BYRON 

in the house of God, " Bless you for praising Him 
whom my soul loveth !" Let the young heart say, 
— Is it not good thus to wait upon the Lord ? Is 
not that man happy whom the Lord corrects % Is it 
not better to sow in tears than join in the laughter 
of the fool 1 Is not 

" All bliss beside, a shadow and a sound," 

compared with the fulness of joy in which the heart 
of a believer in Jesus may be bathed ? 

While these were the blessings which Cowper en- 
joyed, even amid many woes, it might be profitable 
to study, in contrast with him, the life of some other 
poet, say Byron or Burns, Of the former, one can 
speak only as a majestic moral wreck — as one 
; ' seared in heart, and lone, and blighted," by the 
force of his own unbridled passion ; nay, not mere- 
ly unbridled, but goaded and stimulated till indul- 
gence became a consuming pleasure — the pleasure 
of sin, but a synonyme for woe. The recklessness 
with which he outraged all that was sacred, the wild- 
ness of his licentious career, and the boldness of his 
blasphemy, all signalize that nobleman as one of the 
most conspicuous in wretchedness that our world 
ever saw. He gloried in his own shame ; and a life 
of daring defiance to the laws of God, or the decen- 
cies of society, appears to have formed the very 
pride of Byron. Who will question his genius % 
Who does not admire his power ? But, along with 
these, who does not see that very genius, and that 



HIS DEATH-BED. 195 

very power, perverted into the means of increasing 
his misery ? Minds like his own may palliate his 
guilt, or even try to invest it with a halo of glory ; 
but religion outraged, or blasphemy invested with a 
charm, and poured forth in wasteful abundance upon 
the world, render him a beacon, a beacon especially 

to the young. 

— — "As soon 

Seek roses in December, iee in Jnne," 

as expect anything but woe and tribulation in the 
train of conduct like that of the poet Byron. 

On his most melancholy death-bead, that majestic 
wreck, his biographer tells us, " clenched his hands 
at times, gnashed his teeth, and uttered the Italian 
exclamation of ' Ah, Chrisii !' " Was it faith in the 
great name, or was it delirium, the harbinger of 
death ? Was it the outcry of a soul earnest at last 
for the good and the holy, or was it only an excla- 
mation extorted by pain % Was it the soul dis- 
covering that " the name of the Lord is a strong 
tower," or was it reaping the whirlwind as it had 
sowed the wind 1 We cannot, cannot tell. But this 
we know, " These things are written for our instruc- 
tion," and he is wise who learns the lesson which 
they teach. They proclaim that man may hasten to 
ruin with a torch kindled in heaven in his hand. 
Over broken hearts, over outraged affection, over 
ruined souls, men will rush to the second death, and 
only the Spirit of God can prevent the young, in 
generation after generation, from following in the 
same road to ruin. 



CHAPTER XV. 



THE DIVINE. 



What crowds of lessons rush into the thoughtful 
mind during a walk in a churchyard ! 

See this little grave ! The earth scarcely swells 
above it, and you can with difficulty tell that the turf 
has ever been disturbed. It is the last resting-place 
of a little child who just opened his eyes on our 
world, and then closed them again, till time shall be 
no more. 

Or see that open burial-place. It is waiting to re- 
ceive an only son. His weeping father, and more 
weeping mother, are preparing to surrender his dust 
till the archangel's trump shall summon the dead, 
small and great, to the tribunal of their God. 

Read that inscription. It tells of a youth who fell 
in battle, and who has fulfilled the Word of God in 
a far off land, saying there to the worm, " Thou art 
my mother, and thou art my sister." He went to 
the battle-field in quest of glory, but the poor child 
of dust found only a grave. 

Or mark that downcast mourner, whose foot-falls, 
so heavy and so slow, betoken the load which pres- 
ses on her spirit. It is a widow, who has come hither 



LESSONS IN A CHURCHYARD. 197 

to weep by the grave of him who was the husband 
of her youth and her heart. He is now in the nar- 
row house, and has left her no earthly portion but 
loneliness and tears. 

Or see that mouldering but labored inscription. 
It was designed to perpetuate the pride of one w r hose 
heart beat only for himself — who selfishly grasped 
at all . he could heap together, and as tenaciously 
held all that he had grasped. The inscription by 
which his friends sought to redeem him from oblivion 
*.s fast hastening to decay. 

And there is the grave of one wdio had formed 
great plans for the future. He boasted of to-mor- 
row. He was to buy, and sell, and get gain ; but 
death came — his soul was required of him — he and 
his visions beside him, are now buried in that grave, 
and the flower which has withered on its stalk is 
scarcely more transient than he. 

Now, as in the graveyard, so in life. The variety 
wdiich meets us among the dead meets among the 
living also. It meets us in the world ; it meets us 
in the church ; and we are now to glance at the his- 
tory of another man, to behold another triumph of 
grace — another sowing-time of tears and reaping- 
time of joy. The rainbow ranks among the loveliest 
objects in nature ; but of what is it formed 1 Per- 
haps of the dew, first evaporated by the morning sun, 
then formed into clouds in the air, and then descend- 
ing in a shower to gladden the earth — and so with 
the joys of man. He passes through trial after trial, 
17* 



198 THOMAS SCOTT. 

but if he be a child of God, joy is the result of the 
whole. Let us contemplate such a case. 

Thomas Scott was born in the year 1747, and by 
his own account, he grew up for some time amid all 
the sins in which the unconverted rejoice. 4; There 
was no fear of God before my eyes," he says, and 
he has honestly described his own condition with 
great distinctness, as a warning to all who will be 
warned. Wicked companions were for a time his 
choice. He had not been long apprenticed when his 
conduct caused his dismissal ; and the result of that 
was vexation, shame, and bitterness, both to himself 
and his relations, such as cannot easily be told. 

Amid these things, however, the conviction of sin 
began to be felt. Scott's conscience was outraged ; 
and when he saw what it was to be filled with the 
fruits of his own devices, he also felt what it was to 
be a sinner against God. A godless man once re- 
proved him for sin, and said that he was not merely 
offending a fellow-creature, but was wicked, moreover, 
in the sight of God. Reproof from such a quarter, 
went to Scott's heart, and he describes it as " the pri- 
mary means of his subsequent conversion." Till he 
was about sixteen years of age, however, he had felt- 
no fear of God ; but then he began to feel his con- 
dition, and adopted various means to soothe his 
troubled conscience. Shame and degradation be- 
came his lot at the hands of men, for he was for a 
time the menial or the drudge of others, and added 
anothpr f o the multitude who have felt that the way 



THE PLOUGHSHARE OF TRUTH. 199 

of sin 13 a way of misery. He had now many se- 
rious thoughts of God and eternity, for the prodigal 
was coming to himself, and his sorrows, he says, then 
" produced a kind of paroxysm of religion. " He 
prayed for pardon, and began to cherish the hope o* 
happiness hereafter. At times his mind was over- 
powered by the thought of eternity, w r hile his fear 
became intolerable, for the ploughshare of truth was 
tearing up the soil which was overrun with much 
that was noxious and offensive. It was still only 
conscience, how r ever, and not the gospel, that was 
guiding Scott ; and "low-lived riots" were not un- 
frequently the scenes amid which he continued to 
move. " Low and abandoned company " was still 
frequented by him, so that he was busy heaping up 
wrath against himself, at the very time when con- 
science was asserting the righteous claims of God. 

Even while indulging in such conduct, Thomas 
Scott made an unsuccessful effort to obtain ordina- 
tion as a minister of Christ. But though he failed 
in that attempt, he was soon afterwards successful, 
and the man whom we have just described in his own 
words, was ordained to tell others of a Saviour whom 
he did not yet know — of a pardon which he did not yet 
seek in the appointed way — and a heaven to which 
ne was not yet journeying. Conscience was so far 
asleep, that it lifted no availing protest against so un- 
hallowed a measure. Nay, more ; he actually adopt- 
ed one of the most ruinous of all the corrupt forms of 
Christianity ; and on a retrospect of such procedure, 



200 THE MISERY OF SIN. 

Scott has solemnly said, "I never think of this daring 
wickedness without being filled with amazement that I 
am out of hell. " He had occasion, in bitterness of 
spirit, to record that he " abhorred himself, and repent- 
ed in dust and ashes. 5 ' He felt that he was self-ruined . 
The sins of his youth clamored for punishment, and 
he who had vowed that he would lead men to him 
who is the way, was himself agitated and harassed 
— a blind leader of the Wind. " He was ashamed 
and confounded, because he did bear the reproach of 
his youth. " 

Here, then, we find one who is already busy reap- 
ing as he had sowed. Like many others, he has tried 
to gather grapes from thorns, and figs from thistles ; 
but only corroding misery is his lot. He has found 
that the wages of sin is death ; and that no man can 
swerve from the ways of God and be blessed, just as 
no man can take fire into his bosom and not be burned. 

Yet, as God had work for Saul of Tarsus to per- 
form, and therefore rescued him, in a wondrous way, 
from the bondage of sin, so Thomas Scott was de- 
livered from his pernicious paths. When conscience 
asserted its supremacy, he began to see the fearful 
pit into which he had fallen, and adopted measures 
for obtaining relief. He now addressed himself to 
his studies with indomitable resolution, and with an 
activity that has rarely been equalled, gave himseli 
to all known duties. He sometimes heard John 
Newton preach, for they were neighbors. He tried 
to draw that honored minister into a controversy, and 



THE WINE OF ASTONISHMENT. 201 

in various ways showed that his mind was ill at ease 
— that his early habits and heretical opinions were 
bearing their appointed fruit ; in short, that he was 
draining the cup which his own hand had filled. He 
says of this period of his history, that " he knew 
neither the Mediator through whom, nor the Spirit by 
whom, prayers are offered with acceptance. " In a 
word, the fever and the fret of this man's life became 
a burden greater than hp could easily bear ; he had 
fallen into the pit which his own hand had dug ; he 
was drinking the wine of astonishment which his own 
devices had mingled. 

By that process, then, blessed of God, the man 
who had long sown to the flesh, began to sow to the 
Spirit. The heart formerly so stubborn and so 
proud, now became humble and docile. Scott now 
read the Scriptures, and prayed for a better teach- 
ing than man's, and the truth as it is in Jesus took 
possession of his mind. He began to count all 
earthly things but loss for the excellency of the 
knowledge of Christ. His former ways became a 
source of deeper loathing to him than ever, and 
though he still conformed to the world in some re- 
spects, yet the truth which he had imbibed gradual- 
ly leavened his soul — all things were becoming new, 
and trials came to hasten forward the change. Men 
who loved the praise of man more than the praise 
of God, attempted to scare him from his purpose to 
follow the Lord fully. He was able, however, to 
take up his cross and follow Christ. " Seek first 



£02 THE NEW CREATURE. 

the kingdom of God and his righteousness,'' became 
his favorite maxim. In short, the incorruptible 
seed is now fairly lodged in the soul, and he who 
had before reaped woe and tribulation from sin, now 
began to enjoy the abundance of peace — peace with 
God in Christ, though there were still fightings with- 
out, and fears within. He dared to trust in God, 
and he was not forsaken. He had been substituting 
the counterfeit bauble for the jewel, but was at 
length undeceived, and began to be truly wise, be- 
cause wise unto salvation. 

The ploughshare, then, has now done its work. The 
process of sowing is over, and how is Scott to reap 1 

It was often his lot to be in straits regarding his 
worldly affairs ; sometimes he had little more than 
the promise of God to trust in — -" Bread shall be 
provided, and water made sure." But Scott .trust- 
ed, and was not put to shame ; help sometimes 
came in such a way as to show that it came from 
his God. 

But he had higher rewards. Scarcely had he 
himself welcomed the truth, and learned to speak 
from heart to heart, " as dying unto dying men," 
when souls began to inquire what they must do to 
be saved, or to turn their faces Zionward, under the 
pressure of his manly and vigorous ministry. The 
seven years which followed his reception of the 
truth — " the good seed" — were the happiest of his 
life. He waited and he prayed for souls, and did 
not wait in vain. 



THE GOOD SEED SOWN. 203 

Scott's great reaping- time, however, was connect- 
ed with his Commentary on the Bible — one of the 
works which have helped to give a character to our 
age, as well as' to establish many in the faith. Not 
fewer than twelve thousand copies of that work, 
voluminous as it is. were sold during the author's 
life-time, while upwards of twenty -five thousand 
copies were sold in America during the same pe- 
riod. The cost of the English copies amounted to 
about £67,000 ; and of the American copies to 
about £132,000 ; so that for that single production 
of Scott, the public had paid, about the period of 
his death, not less than £200,000. Now, these facts 
may enable us to understand how widely and how 
unsparingly Scott sowed the incorruptible seed. 
That was often done amid sorrow, and anguish, and 
tears ; but it was the more likely to grow, because 
it was watered by weeping — and it has grown to 
the increased light and knowledge of hundreds of 
thousands. These things, added to the number in 
London and elsewhere whom Scott was the means 
of converting from the error of their ways, form 
the richest harvest which a child of Adam can reap 
— and he reaped it in more than usual abundance 
during the closing years of his life. 

It is true that this man of God was often much 
depressed, or compassed about with a great fight of 
afflictions ; and as his death drew near, he was 
sometimes dejected by gloomy forebodings. Yet 
his latter end was peace. He sank " as quietly as 



204 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 

an infant dropping asleep." "All that he had taught 
and done was sealed by his dying testimony and his 
dying example." " He inquired, 4 Any change ? 
Any token for good V for so he called the symp- 
toms of approaching dissolution." " The expression 
of his countenance suddenly changed from that of 
prayer, and indicated, as I conceived, a transition to 
feelings of admiring and adoring praise, with a 
calmness and peace which are quite inexpressible," 
— such are some of the expressions employed to 
describe Scott's closing earthly scene ; and is not 
his latter end that of the righteous % " Our friend 
is gone," or, " We have lost our friend ," was the la- 
mentation of his poor parishioners over him ; and 
whether it was in the composure of his own depart- 
ing soul, in the good which he was the instrument 
of accomplishing as a defender of the common faith, 
or in the veneration which followed him to the 
grave, we cannot but say that Thomas Scott sowed 
well and reaped well — he reaped the peaceable 
fruits of righteousness as few have ever done. 

One instance may be quoted. Henry Kirke 
White was once in danger of becoming an infidel. 
He read " The Force of Truth," — a book which ev- 
ery youth should study — of which Scott was the au- 
thor, and it proved the turning-point in the history 
of Kirke White's soul. According to one account, 
he expressed his readiness " to give up all the acqui- 
sitions of knowledge, and all hopes of fame, and 
live in a wilderness unknown till death, provided he 



THE GRAND PURSUIT. 205 

could insure an inheritance in heaven. A new pur- 
suit was opened up to him, and he engaged in it 
with his wonted ardor." 

" Large indeed was the harvest," writes William. 
Wilberforce, ^ho w r as one of Scott's hearers in 
London, " which he was allowed to gather in ; many 
are the works which have followed him ; and rich, 
doubtless, will be his remuneration on that day 
when he shall hear the blessed address w r hich I could 
for very, very few, anticipate with equal confidence. 
' Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou 
into the joy of thy Lord.' " 

Now, let every young mind mark, and inwardly 
digest, what Scott himself describes again and again 
as his guiding maxim from the period of his conver 
sion : — " The grand secret of my success," he says, 
" appears to have been this, that I always sought 
for my children as well as for myself, in the first 
place, the kingdom of God and his righteousness." 
Because he sowed so wisely and so well, he was hon- 
ored to reap abundantly, while his spiritual children 
rose up and called him blessed — 

" On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand, 
All other ground is sinking sand," 

was his habitual resolution, and standing there, he 
beckoned many sons and daughters to glory. 
18 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE STATESMAN. 



With the exception of the apostle Paul, perhaps 
no man ever did so much for mankind as William 
Wilberforce, the enemy of the slave trade, and 
at last the emancipator of the slaves. 

He was born in the month of August, 1759, and 
like Philip Doddridge, was so weakly as often to 
suggest a doubt whether he could Jong survive. 
As he grew up, the feeble boy became unusually 
thoughtful, with large affections, and a vigorous 
mind. No great pains, however, were taken at first 
to form his religious principles. His biographers 
tell us that his mother, while her son was young, 
did not hold those views of the spiritual nature of 
religion which she adopted in later life ; and when 
a mother has not learned to love her own soul, as 
the Word of God teaches us to do, how can she 
care aright for the soul of her child ? 

At school, young Wilberforce was regarded as a 
model boy, and was sometimes " set upon a tabje 
and made to read aloud, as an example to the 
others." In the house of an uncle with whom he 
resided for a season, he was brought for the fji^fc 



WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. 207 

time under the power of religion in its scriptural 
forms. His aunt was an admirer of George White- 
field and other methodists ; and " the rare and pleas 
ing character of piety which marked the twelfth yeai 
of that boy," has been recorded by one who was 
then familiar with him. The knowledge of Scrip- 
ture which he then acquired, and the devotional 
habits which he was then led to cultivate, may ap- 
pear hereafter to that eye which looks on the heart, 
to have been the germ of the future greatness and 
power for good of this remarkable man. In the 
hope, then, that some among the young may be 
prompted to go and do as he did, let us glance, in 
the case of Wilberforce as in that of other s— first, 
at the seed-time of his life ; and, secondly, at its 
autumn. 

Under the first of these, we have his own account 
of his early religion. That he was interested in 
religious subjects is certain ; that his impressions 
were genuine, or the fruit of the Spirit's power, he 
could not absolutely determine. They were, how- 
ever, sincere ; and he wrote letters at that early pe- 
riod which he afterwards declared to be accordant 
with his matured opinions, and which some of his 
friends even thought of giving to the world. It is 
true, he had to deplore the dreadful effects of the 
attempts which were afterwards made to erase these 
religious impressions. " The love of pleasure and 
the love of glory" were systematically made the 
substitutes for the love of God ; and who that knows 



208 EVIL MEN AND SEDUCERS. 

the heart of mar. will wonder though such measures 
were but too successful for a time ? 

When it became apparent that religion was 
likely to take the control of Wilberforce, great alarm 
was produced among certain of his relatives. It 
was determined to " remove him from the dangerous 
influence ;" and w r hen some of those who loved him 
best, because they loved his soul, ventured to re- 
monstrate, they were answered with a sneer at their 
religion ; while, in one case, a relative even threat- 
ened to disinherit the boy who seemed likely to 
adopt an earnest religion. In these circumstances, 
when Wilberforce was only twelve years of age, it 
became the object of his friends to charm away, by 
the seductions of gaiety, that serious spirit which 
had begun to control him. At first, he records, 
" the theatre, the balls, the great suppers, and card- 
parties," to which he was dragged, were " distressing 
to him ; but by degrees he acquired a relish for 
them, and became as thoughtless as the rest." The 
good seed had been sown, but it was choked just 
when it promised to spring up and bear fruit. " No 
pains were spared," he adds, " to stifle my impress- 
ions. I might almost say that no pious parent ever 
labored more to impress a beloved child with sen- 
timents of piety, than they did to give me a taste 
for the world and its diversions." When he was 
first taken to the theatre, he says that it was almost 
by force ; and truth compels us to record the ver- 
dict that if ever pains were taken to destroy a soul, 



EVIL COMMUNICATIONS. 209 

or counteract that grace of God ' which promised 
great things there, it was in the case of William 
Wilberforce. The effort was for a season success- 
ful. All serious thought was forsaken, and worldly 
pleasure became his all in all. 

Yet he was not long given over to frivolity. 
When not more than fourteen years of age, this ill- 
guided boy addressed a letter to the editor of a York 
newspaper, condemning that odious traffic in human 
flesh — the slave trade. Even then his nature rose 
up against the outrage offered to humanity by that 
nefarious system ; even then he struck the key-note 
which was to regulate his entire life ; he planted 
the little seed which was to shoot up into a tree, and 
whose fruit was to bring healing to myriads then 
unborn. 

At the age of seventeen, William Wilberforce 
was sent to St. John's College, Cambridge ; and, 
on the very night of his arrival, he was hurried 
into the dissipation of that university. He was 
often horror-struck, he confesses, at the conduct of 
his associates, 

" On fire with curses, and with nonsense stung." 

There was something in him which protested against 
their grossness, and in about a year, he shook off, in 
a great measure, his connection with them all. By 
the special goodness of God, he was preserved from 
extreme profligacy ; and though his life at college 
was a source of pungent regret when the truth re- 
18* 



210 SNARES. 

gained the control of his mind, he was rather praised 
for his excellence than accused of excess. Tried by 
the high standard which God sets up, young Wil- 
berforce was found wanting ; but who will wonder, 
when relatives dragged him to the theatre by force, 
and did all that a cruel ingenuity could devise to 
efface the love and the impressions of the truth 1 

Soon after Wilberforce was twenty years of age, 
he was elected member of parliament for his native 
town of Hull. William Pitt now became one of 
his associates, and their intimacy soon ripened into 
a very close friendship, but he mingled in circles 
too surely adapted to erase the lingering remains of 
what was lovely and of good report from the mind. 
Flattered by the Prince of Wales, and courted by 
different parties for his influence and power, Wil- 
berforce seemed to have entered on that downward 
path from which few ever retrace their steps to life. 
Fragments of what he was when a little boy would 
from time to time rise to the surface of his soul, 
and hold out a faint promise of his being yet re- 
claimed. Ambition did not quite harden his heart ; 
conscience was not quite seared ; but to the eye of 
man, it was a sad problem which he was then work- 
ing out — " Shall I utterly yield to the world, and 
become an outcast from my God ? Or shall I break 
the bands of sin, and cast its cords from me f 
While passing through that process, we occasionally 
find in his diary such entries as the following — 
" Church — Lock-hospital — De Coetlegan preached 



THE FINGER OF GOD. 211 

— then Goostree's." Goostree kept a gambling 
house, and the play was often deep. 

But while amusements which, were not merely friv 
olous but sinful, were thus engrossing his youth, 
Wilberforce determined to travel into foreign parts. 
The companion to whom he was in providence di- 
rected, was the Rev. Isaac Milner, and that choice 
proved to be the turning-point in the young legisla- 
tor's history. Milner was one of those who had 
adopted scriptural views of truth, although they 
then hung very loosely about him, and Wilberforce 
was not aware of the extent to which his companion 
had done so. Had he known, the proposal that 
they should travel together, would never have been 
made. But God had work both for Wilberforce and 
Milner in the world. He therefore brought them 
together, and while they wandered over many lands, 
that truth which came from the better country to 
guide men to it, took possession of the young legis- 
lator's soul. " Had I known at first what Milner's 
opinions were," he writes, " it would have decided 
me against making him the offer ; so true is it that 
a gracious hand leads us in ways that we know not, 
and blesses us not only without, but even against 
our plans and inclinations." 

So low r had Wilberforce, for some time, sunk, and 
so completely had he obscured the light which once 
promised to irradiate his mind, that he attended at 
a Socinian place of worship, and there countenanced 
the system which tears up the hopes of poor hu« 



212 doddridge's rise and progress. 

manity by the root. And raillery at serious relig- 
ion was the chief attention paid to it by the young 
traveller. But when leaving Nice, in the winter of 
178 4-5, he took up, as if by accident, a copy of 
Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion ; he ask- 
ed Milner its character ; he was told " it was one of 
the best books ever written," — and while reading it 
on the journey, he was so far influenced as to resolve 
to examine the Scriptures at some future time, to 
discover whether the truth really was as Doddridge 
propounds it. Under the impression thus produced, 
Wilberforce became more sedate or solemn for a 
time, and at last his understanding was convinced, 
though his heart was not influenced by the convic- 
tion, that the truth was as Doddridge declared, and 
as Milner argued. " My interest in it," records the 
strippling legislator, " certainly increased, and at 
length I began to be impressed with a sense of its 
importance." He would no longer travel on the 
Sabbath ; but he himself must tell how his soul was 
exercised. " Often," he says, " while in the full en- 
joyment of all that this world could bestow, my con- 
science told me, that in the true sense of the word, 
I was not a Christian. I laughed, I sang, I was ap- 
parently gay and happy ; but the thought would steal 
across me — ' what madness is all this? to continue 
easy in a state in which a sudden call out of the 
world would consign me to everlasting misery, and 
that, when eternal happiness is within my grasp !' 
For I had received into my understanding the great 



THE UNEASY CONSCIENCE. 213 

/ruths of the Gospel, and believed that its offers are 
free and universal ; and that God had promised to 
give his Holy Spirit to them that asked him. At 
length such thoughts as these completely occupied 
my mind, and I began to pray earnestly." " Began 
three or four days ago," the narrative continues, " to 
get up very early. In the solitude and self-conver- 
sation of the morning, had thoughts which I trust 
will come to something." " As soon as I reflected 
seriously upon these subjects, the deep guilt and 
black ingratitude of my past life forced itself upon 
me in the strongest colors, and I condemned myself 
for having so wasted my precious time, and oppor- 
tunities, and talents." 

" It was not so much," he has added, " the fear of 
punishment by which I was affected, as a sense of 
my great sinfulness in having so long neglected the 
unspeakable mercies of my God and Saviour ; and 
such was the effect which this thought produced, that 
for months I was in a state of the deepest depres- 
sion, from strong convictions of my guilt. Indeed, 
nothing which 1 have ever read in the accounts of 
others, exceeded what I then felt." 

These things took place when Wilberforce was 
about twenty -five. He now sought the counsel and 
the prayers of the Rev. John Newton ; for his soul 
once so frivolous and unconcerned, was bowed to 
the dust by a load which threatened to crush him. 
He opened up his mind to the companions of his 
former levity. He wrote, among the rest, to Wil- 



214 THE CHANGE. 

liam Pitt; told him, in effect, that old things had 
passed away — talked over the change with his 
friend, after praying for the Divine guidance in the 
matter — and thus exhibited in life the deep things of 
the Spirit to that gifted man. 

Wilberforce, then, is now a reiglious man. He 
has in his soul the faith of Him who died for men. 
He seems to be brought nigh by the blood of the 
cross, and henceforth we shall see him in the world, 
but not of it. The sorrow of soul which he had felt 
was like the ploughshare of truth, tearing up the 
soil, and the good seed is now sown there. The 
soul is now attended to. God and eternity have in 
some degree, obtained their place in the mind; and 
wherever Wilberforce may hereafter be found, it 
cannot be among those who make a mock at sin, or 
like not to retain the knowledge of God. He is 
still, sometimes, like a person who has fallen into 
a rapid stream, now swept down, and in danger of 
sinking — anon rising to the surface — struggling, buf- 
feting, and calling for help — but, on the whole, he 
ascends the stream, and his landing-place is " the 
Rock that is higher than we." "Enabled to join in 
the prayers with my whole heart, and never so hap- 
py in my life as this whole evening. Enlarged in 
private prayer, and have a good hope towards God," 

" but God must ever keep beside me, 

for I fall the moment I am left to myself. I stayed 
in town to attend the ordinances, and have been glo- 
riously blessed in them." Such are portions of his 



THE NEW MAN. 215 

recorded experience now, and is not this another 
brand plucked from the burning ? 

From this period, Wilberforce began to counsel 
his friends concerning the things which belong to 
their eternal peace. He now spent several hours 
daily in searching the Scriptures, and exhorted oth- 
ers to do the same. He walked in the light of 
God's favor, and the man who was lately engrossed 
with the flaunting insipidities of earth, had learned 
to make " the fields his oratory," as God was his 
friend. A settled peace of conscience began to be 
enjoyed, and he devoted himself for the remainder 
of life to the service of his God and Saviour. He 
looked upon his past career as one of madness. A 
holy circumspection now presided over all that Wil- 
berforce did. His friendships, his books, his pur- 
suits, were all, in a large measure, under the con- 
trol of God's Word ; and though he had still trials, 
falls, and shortcomings, his was a life of very singu- 
lar sunshine — serene and tranquil amid what would 
have upset less privileged men. The world, indeed, 
deemed him mad ; but a shrewd observer once said 
concerning him, " If this is madness, I wish he would 
bite us all." 

Such was the period in the life of Wilberforce, 
which may be deemed its seed-time. It was one of 
danger and difficulty, and toil, but the result was a 
preparation for a plentiful harvest — and how there- 
fore, did William Wilberforce reap 1 

Moving as he did in the highest circles, and stand- 



i 



216 THE WpRK, AND ITS REWARD. 

ing not seldom at the right hand of royalty, William 
Wilberforce looked round from his high level, and 
saw the dissoluteness which every where prevailed. 
Among ministers, he perceived that not a few were 
Socinians. The rich, he saw, were wholly given up 
to dissipation ; and being stirred at the sight he, 
strove to do for them what John Wesley did for 
thousands of the poor in England — he moved the 
king to take measures for the reformation of manners 
and he largely succeeded. In the best and highest 
sense, the Christian, Wilberforce, became a reformer, 
and, as a centre of influence for good, he spread bless- 
ings through many a home. 

But it was in regard to the Slave Trade that he 
proved the greatest benefactor to mankind, as it was 
there that he reaped his best and richest earthly re- 
ward. For forty years the struggle against slavery- 
was carried on ; and through the greater portion of 
that time, he was the undaunted leader in the war- 
fare against that nefarious system. Though assailed 
by every weapon which self interest, malignity, and 
rancorous hatred could devise, he persevered through 
good report and bad, nor was he without immediate 
reward. The applause of every right-hearted man 
cheered him on in a work where self-sacrifice was 
needed. " Parliament, the nation, and Europe, are 
under great obligations to Mr. Wilberforce," was 
the declaration of Burke. Pitt, Fox, and others, re- 
echoed the sentiment ; and though baffled again, and 
again, and again, through many weary years, he never 



HONORING GOD. 21? 

once faltered, for he felt that the cause of justice and 
humanity must eventually triumph. Personal vio- 
lence, indeed, was threatened. " I remember well 
how it was," he says. " What an honorable service ! 
How often protected from evil and danger ! Kept 
from Norris's hands, and Kimber's, furious West 
Indians, for two whole seasons together." But, to 
show how tranquil he was amid such assaults, he has 
recorded that, whilst a member of parliament was 
railing against him in the House of Commons, he 
was calmly making arrangements for one of the most 
important events of his life — he was literally hidden 
from the strife of tongues. While hundreds assailed 
and reviled, thousands upheld him ; and of one of 
his elections about this period, a bystander says, " It 
was indeed an august and interesting scene ; not one 
hand was lifted up against him, and the surrounding 
countenances wore expressions of the greatest de- 
light and esteem towards him. " He honored God, 
and as he sowed he reaped. 

But what was the secret of all this ? Where did 
Wilberforce find strength for all he had to do ? — 
There is a boat floating on the waters of the Lake 
of Windermere. It is early morning, and the sun is 
just tipping the surrounding hill with light, or pour- 
ing his first rays on the still sleeping waters. In that 
boat there is a solitary rower — it is William Wil- 
berforce on his way from his mansion on the banks 
to " find an oratory under one of the woody islands 
in the middle of the lake." His genial and ever 
19 



218 THE *•' PRACTICAL VJ^W." 

hospitable home was crowded with guests. He could 
scarcely find retirement there, even during the hour 
of morning twilight ; and that he might be alone 
with God, he sought the shadow of the island, where, 
with the blue lake below, and the blue sky above, he 
communed with that God in whom we have right- 
eousness and strength. They who are acquainted 
with the power which prayer, the grand conductor, 
draws down from heaven, will not wonder now that 
William Wilberforce attempted and acheived so 
much — we now see why 

"His glory dies not, while his grief is past." 

But this is not nearly all. While intensely occu- 
pied in many ways, Wilberforce meditated yet more 
for his God, and prepared a " Practical View r of 
Christianity, " in which he contrasts religion as un- 
converted men hold it, with religion as God revealed 
it. Within six months, seven thousand five hundred 
copies of that book were sold. To a great extent, 
it created a revolution in men's religious opinions. 
It was regarded as " producing an era in the history 
of the church." " Such a book, by such a man, and 
at such a time," was hailed with acclamations. In 
India and America it was read with avidity. It w T as 
translated into French, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and 
German. Enconium after enconium was heaped 
upon its author. Many ascribed their conversion to 
it. One man " purchased a small freehold in York- 
shire that he might offer the author a slight tribute of 



BLESSINGS. 219 

respect by voting for him." Burke, when dying, sent 
to telJ Wilberforce how much he had profited by his 
work : in brief, men of all ranks and of all attainments, 
found a blessing in it. It contained no small portion 
of God's truth, and was honored to do His work ; 
and the author was permitted to record with joy, that 
" many, many communicated to him that it was the 
means of their turning to Gocl. " 

Here, then, is a remarkable instance of sowing, 
well and reaping well. To the Spirit did Wilber- 
force sow, and he reaped a harvest of souls. He 
read Doddridge's book on the Rise and Progress of 
Religion in the Soul ; it took hold of his own soul, 
and stirred his own conscience. Then he sent forth 
his own book. That, in its turn, took hold of hun- 
dreds ; among others, it was blessed to aid and ir- 
radiate the grand mind of Dr. Chalmers ; so that, 
from generation to generation, Wilberforce continues 
to reap. " His w T orks do follow him." He laid up 
treasures in heaven, and he is rich with them now 
beyond what mortal eye has seen, or mortal tongue 
can tell. Is not all that the world can give as 
worthless as the toys of children in comparison with 
this rich harvest ? 

But in other ways still did Wilberforce sow to 
the Spirit. His charity, for example, was munifi 
cent. At one period, " at least one-fourth of his in- 
come was so employed." In a single year, he has 
been known to give away the sum of three thousand 
one hundred and seventy-three pounds. As a stew 



220 THE BIBLE SOCIETY. 

ard, and not a proprietor, as occupying till his Mas- 
ter came, and not as selfishly grasping at what was 
only lent, Wilberforce employed his means for his 
Lord, and he was Messed in his deed. His own 
intense enjoyment of life, and the large measure of 
happiness imparted, finely illustrate the truth, that 
" he who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord." 
He loved to trace the loving-kindness of God guid- 
ing him from his youth upwards, and when he saw 
that goodness and mercy had followed him all his 
days, he reaped a richer reward than worldly men 
can do when their corn and wine are most abundant. 
" Praise the Lord, O my soul," is his exclamation 
on one of these retrospects ; and when reviewing the 
way by which God had led him, none ever had 
greater reason than he to re-echo King David's 
words. " O my soul, remember thy portion is not 
here. Mind not high things. Be not conformed 
to this world. Commit thy way unto the Lord, and 
delight thyself in God." — That was his language 
when training his soul for glory and immortality 
amid all his earthly possessions. 

Wilberforce was one of the founders of the Bible 
Society, and it would be pleasing to show how he 
has reaped abundant fruits from that sowing also. 
Many millions of Bibles circulated throughout the 
world, and translations of the Scriptures into many 
tongues, till they now amount to hundreds, form 
part of his harvest here ; and if it be true that 
" God has magnified His word above all His name," 



SLAVERY ABOLISHED. 221 

who will doubt that the richest reward awaits the 
man who helped to establish the Bible Society ! 
Wilber force has been called " The Friend of Man." 
and in this respect he was pre-eminently so. 

But the two grand harvests in the life of Wilber- 
force were the abolition of the Slave Trade in 1 807. 
and the extinction of Slavery itself in the British 
dominions in 1833. He had been told on one occa- 
sion, " In your hands is perhaps the fate of this 
country." His virtues and his power had been eu- 
logized by men of all parties, but it was his crown- 
ing reward to see the abominable traffic in human 
flesh and blood abolished by British statutes, and 
modified throughout the world by British influ- 
ence. It is true that, as his day declined, stroke 
after stroke fell on the old man, but amid them all 
he walked in sunshine to the very grave ; and we 
can scarcely qualify the saying, when we aver that 
his was the happiest life ever led by a child of God 
on earth. And when, in the goodness of God, he 
was brought to London within a few days of his 
death, a feeble old man of seventy-four, to hear the 
glad tidings of the abolition of slavery, at the cost 
of twenty millions sterling, it seemed as if all that 
was required to consummate his joy on earth had 
been mercifully granted. " Thank God," he ex- 
claimed, " that I should have lived to see the day 
in which England is willing to give twenty millions 
sterling for the abolition of slavery." His toils 
were all forgotten. His calumnies, and contumely 
19* 



222 THE HERO OF HUMANITY. 

and aanger were no more remembered. If he had 
sown in tears, he was reaping in joy ; and it really 
seemed as if Wilberforce had no more that he could 
even wish on this side of the eternal crown. And 
then, when the high aristocracy of England, from 
the right hand of royalty downward, bore him amid 
their tears to his last resting-place in Westminster 
Abbey, as an honored and a holy asylum, the na- 
tion was honored by the honor paid to the hero of 
humanity. In death, Wilberforce himself expressed 
the hope that he had his feet upon the Rock : he is 
now under its eternal shadow. 

Now, let no youth fail to notice that it was the 
unfaltering Christian principle of Wilberforce which 
made him what he was. Had his relatives suc- 
ceeded in their infatuated attempt to banish living, 
earnest religion from his soul, Africa might still have 
been trodden down, a mart for human flesh and 
blood. Its swarthy sons might still have been 
scourged, manacled, or butchered, at men's pleasure. 
But the light which dawned on the boy could not 
be quenched in the man. Nay, it shone more and 
more unto the perfect day, and, irradiated by it, 
Wilberforce achieved more than the sons of men 
are commonly honored to achieve. He has been 
3ompared to the cereus, which blooms at midnight ; 
for while all around was often dark, he saw light in 
God's light, and hoped and labored on. In the Lord 
he found both righteousness and strength, and hence 
his rich harvest. Corruption in him put on incor- 



WILBERFORCE BONAPARTE. 22-3 

ruption even here. Mortality was swallowed up 
of life, and faith like his own exclaims beside his 
grave— 

" Weep not for him ! He is an angel now, 
And treads the sapphire floors of paradise.*' 

Would the young, then, learn the lesson of this 
life, and reap as Wilberforce reaped ? Let them 
sow as he sowed, and then fear nothing. It was his 
early resolution, first, to " fly to God for pardon, 
pleading the blood of Jesus ;" and secondly, when 
tempted to despair, still to cleave to the truth, 
" Christ is mighty to save." Be these two cardinal 
truths embraced, and the soul is safe. God may 
honor it to do great things for him. He will bless 
it and make it a blessing. 

And O how different was the death of Wilber- 
force from that of merely ambitious men ! He died 
in the bosom of his family, and the tears of thou- 
sands in every land were his dirge. Bonaparte, on 
the other hand, for example, died a prisoner on a 
rock, chafed, galled, and fretted to death by his 
chain. Even Pitt, according to Wilberforce, his 
bosom friend, died of a broken heart. The highest 
subject was also perhaps the most wretched man in 
the empire, for it is said that there was not one friend 
at hand to close his dying eye ! Who, then, would 
not exclaim, " Let me die the death of the righteous, 
let my latter end be like his" ? But if the young 
would die the death of Wilberforce, let them live 



224 THE END OF ALL. 

his life. Let his God be their God. his Saviour 
their Saviour, his religion their religion, and his 
eternal home will be theirs for ever — 

*' Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love, 
From all the just on earth, and all the blest above,** 

was Cowper's address to Wilberforce ; and if the 
same principles as guided him shall guide the young, 
similar results will follow ; for the unchanging God 
has made it a law, that " whatsoever a man sows, 
that shall he also reap.' 7 



CHAPTER XVII. 



THE PASTOR. 



No doubt, one reason why so few of the young 
are godly, is, that they deem religion a gloomy 
thing — it imprisons rather than emancipates their 
mind. They have no natural desire after God. As 
they leave the nursery, they enter on the thoughtless 
career of boyhood. One object after another so- 
licits and secures their attention. Curiosity is fresh 
and insatiable. The world in ten thousand forms al- 
lures. Passion gathers strength. All opposing bar- 
riers are too often swept away, and when conscience 
lifts a remonstrating voice, or affection a beseeching 
one, it is too frequently drowned in the din of pas- 
sion. The treatment of Elisha by the children of 
Bethel is too often repeated, almost to the letter, by 
those whom age or experience would warn and make 
wise : " Go up, thou baldhead !" is perhaps the lan- 
guage in which the contempt of the young for god- 
liness and the godly is embodied. 

Now, one reason of that is, that the young deem 
religion a morose and a gloomy thing. They are 
not acquainted with its paths of peace. They have 
never seen the chief among ten thousand and alto- 



2*2 r EDWARD BICKERSTETH. 

gether lovely. All that they know of religion is, 
that they cannot sin if they be religious, and as in- 
iquity is bound up in the heart of a child, the love 
of that prevails over the love of God, till the young 
often turn in weariness away from the chief good — 
the Prince of Peace — -the very peace of God. We 
are about to draw attention to one who was taught 
by the Spirit of God to follow a far different 
course. 

Edward Bickersteth was born in the year 1786, 
and soon evinced that, in some respects at least, he 
was to be taught to employ aright the seed-time of 
his existence. Though his mother then joined with- 
out fear in the amusements of the ball-room and the 
theatre, and could consequently, at that period, have 
no adequate perception of what is the chief end of 
man, in other respects she trained her son in such 
a manner as to prompt him often, in his future ca- 
reer, to acknowledge how much he owed to her. 
early training. For some time, however, the effect 
of her example was deleterious ; and when he was 
only about fourteen years of age, young Bicker- 
steth's account of visits to the theatre, and excur 
sions on the Sabbath, show too plainly that God's 
standard was not yet his. 

Yet very early in life, as he records, he had relig- 
ious impressions. When he was only seven or eight 
years of age, he prayed of his own accord three 
times every day. This was not, indeed, the result 
of true conversion, and soon gave place to the na- 



THE YOUNG FORMALIST. 227 

tive ungodliness of man's heart. Eeligion became 
irksome for a time, or rather it ebbed and flowed, 
or waxed and waned, because all was still nature 
and not grace, for Edward Bickersteth had not yet 
passed the margin between the dead in sin and those 
who are alive unto God. But this Confirmation, at 
the age of thirteen, produced some serious thoughts, 
while other things pressed on his attention the need 
of reformation, though " it was only by fits and 
starts that he was in earnest." He " committed sins," 
he says, u known sins, not only in thought, and word, 
but in deed and action." " My religious duties were 
cold, formal, and altogether lifeless, without mean- 
ing, done from fear, and as meritorious actions. I 
did not neglect private prayer, but it was short and 
ineffectual." Amid all this, however, this earnest 
boy took no step without the counsel and sanction 
of his parents. His deference to them was among 
the most signal characterictics of his younger years ; 
and when the books are opened, and the judgment 
upon men read out, it may yet appear that there 
was a close connection between that deference and 
what Edward Bickersteth eventually became. 

But his growth in knowledge and in conscientious- 
ness becomes more apparent as his years increase. 
When still only a stripling, his resolutions as to his 
public duty, his religion, his time and behavior, 
would put to shame the attainments of many a 
hoary head. "To attend divine service twice, if 
possible, every Sunday, and whilst in church to be- 



228 FEELING AFTER GOD. 

have properly and religiously — to say the Lord's 
prayer regularly every morning and evening — to 
read a chapter in the Bible every evening, and no- 
thing but what tends to encourage religious thoughts 
on a Sunday ; and to receive the most comfortable 
sacrament of our Lord at least four times a year. 
Also to devote half an hour every day to religious 
duties," — these are the recorded resolutions of one 
who was still only a boy ; and though they betray 
that spirit of self-dependence which betokens the ab- 
sence of right self-knowledge, they also show the 
stirring activity of conscience. It is true, and it 
might have been expected, he " broke through every 
one of these rules ;" but when Edward Bickersteth 
adopted them, he was at least feeling after God. 
He had still to learn " the more excellent way," but 
he was already asking for it ; and step by step he 
was guided aright. " Strange," he says, in an hour 
of self-scrutiny, "yet equally true is it, that knowing 
my faults, I do not amend them." He felt the need 
of aid, but did not know how to obtain it, till he 
learned, while still a youth, to explain his failures 
by confessing, " I have not had my great Redeemer 
sufficiently in my thoughts." He now begins to 
speak much of God's assistance, and the gospel of 
grace is slowly taking the control of his mind. 
Amid declensions and revivals he moves on his way. 
exclaiming, " God remembered me when I forgot 
him, and suffered me not to perish, though eternal 
misery would have been but a just punishment for 



PRESSING INTO THE KINGDOM. 229 

my continual ingratitude, backsliding, and forgetful- 
ness of his goodness." 

Edward Bickersteth was one of those who do not 
know the period of their conversion, but his inter- 
course with others gradually acquired a new tone 
and spirit. More light shone upon his path : more 
gladness became the portion of his soul, because the 
Lamb of God was more singly the object of his af- 
fection and his confidence — he is, in short, not mere- 
ly not far from the kingdom of heaven — he is in it ; 
and there he dwells in peace. Business was now 
inlaid with devotion. The duty of every day was 
done od the maxim that we must " labor for a relig- 
ious end, for whatsoever is not of faith is sin." 
" The alone merits of Christ " became the corner- 
stone of hope. He " sought to live devoted to God, 
and never to gratify a desire that was inconsistent 
with His revealed will." Not his own strength but 
God's had now become his stay, and before he was 
twenty years of age, he had earned a good degree 
with which he went forward to accomplish his own 
wish to be " the best Christian, the best friend, the 
best servant, the best master, the best housekeeper, 
the best son, the best brother, the best laborer — in 
short, to strive to be perfect in his state of life, as 
his heavenly Father was perfect." To promote 
these ends, he finally dedicated himself to God in a 
covenant never to be broken, and soon thereafter 
had reason to exclaim, " let me rejoice in what 
the Spirit of my God has wrought in me ! I am a 
20 



230 THE SINNER SAVED. 

sinner, but Jesus came to save sinners, and to make 
them holy here, and happy hereafter. ' Bless the 
Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me ;' arid 
may I still labor for an increase of holiness and 
goodness, and in the next world the image of my 
God will be entirely restored to me. Happy, hap- 
py day ! Glory to God alone." 

We cannot follow Edward Bickersteth farther in 
his early history, or tell how he longed to enter on 
the work of the Christian ministry — how he at last 
succeeded — how he went to Africa to organize mis- 
sions, and to promote the cause for which the 
Saviour died — how unwearied he was in well-doing, 
or how he turned many to righteousness by the 
blessing of the Spirit on his labor of love in many 
lands. But having now seen how well and how 
laboriously he sowed, let us next consider how he 
reaped. All his powers were well cultivated. All 
his time and talents were well husbanded. His 
soul was turned to seek and serve his God ; and 
what was the fruit of his labor? What profit had 
he under the sun ? 

We can only glance at the blessings which Bick- 
ersteth enjoyed. The mercies that surrounded him, 
he wrote when he was fifty-one, were great beyond 
his power of enumeration. A wide door, and an 
effectual, was opened before him for doing good. 
His books circulated in thousands over the land, and 
did good wherever they went. Friends clustered 
around him in loving affection. The Gospel as pro- 






THE FULL CUP. 231 

claimed by him was welcomed by many ; and along 
a hundred channels, with ever- watchful assiduity, he 
was permitted and privileged, in season and out of 
season, to do good, " You know how each hour 
brings its work, 5 ' he wrote to one of his children, 
*• but the Lord gives me health, and strength, and 
usefulness, and hope and joy in his service, so that 
my cup runs over." " There is such universal con- 
fidence in his remarkable excellence of judgment, 
and integrity of purpose," wrote a devout American 
regarding Bickersteth, " such unfeigned respect for 
his real learning, and holy and exemplary ministry, 
that there are few, if there be any, among the clergy, 
who have at all an equal influence over the minds 
of others. He seems enshrined in the affections 

of his brethren . . ." 

Regarding his works, and the success which attend- 
ed them, we give a single specimen : — He wrote a 
Book of Family Prayers, and in about three months, 
three thousand two hundred and fifty copies were 
scattered over the world. He was not without his 
trials, and his crosses. Nay, he had often to endure 
hardship, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. Whom 
the Lord loves he chastens, and Bickersteth was rare- 
ly left destitute of that love-token ; but mercy was 
beautifully mingled with the whole, " While I am 
so largely blessed in the spiritual state of my chil- 
dren, * 5 he writes, " the constant and the severe illness 
of one of them is the needful ballast of this mercy ;" 
and the joyous hope that all his household were con 



232 CHILDREN TAUGHT OF GOD. 

verted to God, imparted, as well it might, some rays 
of the radiance of heaven to his soul. " Not one 
wanderer lost," was the result of his love, his labor, 
and his prayers for his children. They rose up in 
succession —they called him blessed, and that was to 
be. blessed indeed. 

And what was the character of Bickersteth's latter 
end ? It was pre-eminently one of peace. " I place 
my whole trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. " " If we 
honor the Savior and his truth, he will honor us ; if 
we rally round his truth, he will give us strength to 
support it." " I find all my principles confirmed 
by my last hours. I have believed in the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and he supports me now." " Have I not ten 
thousand alleviations of my sufferings ?— and among 
the greatest, is to have pious children attending my 
dying pillow." " Another singular mercy is that 
all my family have been enabled to gather round my 
bed ; and the greatest of all, that they have one 
heart and mind with me in the things of Christ. — 
Glory be to God for all." " Christ first, Christ last 
— Christ all in all." — Such were some of Bicker- 
steth's sayings on his dying bed ; and do they not 
show at a glance how richly the man who had sowed 
so well was permitted to reap ? He trusted in God, 
and was not put to shame. He was compassed about 
with songs of deliverance. His shepherd's rod and 
staff comforted him in the valley of the shadow of 
death. In that struggle, faith triumphed ; and its 



SONGS OF DELIVERANCE. 233 

triumph was the harbinger of glory ; it made Bicker- 
steth more than a conqueror. 

And contrast for a moment with this the reward 
and the reaping of a wicked man. An angry con- 
science, or a seared one — a God forgotten, or if re- 
membered, dreaded and recoiled from. 

"Which way I fly is hell— myself am hell!" 

— behold the reaping of the ungodly ! But death 
robbed of his sting, and the grave of its victory — 
the Spirit of God to comfort — the Son of God to 
save — faith just passing into sight, and hope into 
fruition, and all into love — behold the vintage gathered 
by the child of God ! If ever there was a life of 
heavenly sunshine on earth, it was that of Edward 
Bickersteth ; and that young soul is not to be en- 
vied which does not seek to follow such a man, as 
he followed Christ. If ever a man complied with 
the injunction to " sow beside all waters," or " in 
the evening sow thy seed, and in the morning with- 
hold not thy hand," it was Bickersteth ; and with 
the truth of God to shed light into the future of such 
a man, it is easy for the eye of faith, which has seen 
him reaping an hundred-fold here, to see him reap- 
ing life everlasting beyond the grave. A satirist 
once exclaimed — 

" In life's last scene what prodigies arise, 
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise !* 

■ — But in the case of Bickersteth, these fears were 
20* 



234 



MORE THAN A CONQUEROR. 



hushed — these follies were turned into wisdom, by 
Him who is made wisdom unto us ; his God " es- 
tablished the work of his hands upon him," and 
both in life and at death he was blessed. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MERCHANT. 

Home ! What a volume is contained in that single 
word ! Ask the exile what it means, and his tears 
will tell more eloquently than words. Ask the 
wandering boy who has none to care for him, or is 
cared for only by his oppressor, or ask the prodigal 
who has hurried away from his father's house to sin, 
and his quivering lip, or his averted visage, will pro- 
claim the spell and the attractions of home. Neces- 
sity may compel us 

"To mould the heart anew, to take the stamp 
Of foreign friendships in a foreign land, 
And learn to love the music of strange tongues ;" 

but still there is a corner in the heart reserved for 
home — sacred, inviolable, and sealed against intru- 
sion as with the signet of a king. 

And 'yet there are scenes sometimes connected 
with home which might rather invest it with gloom, 
or urge the sensitive to shun it. Death has crossed 
its threshold — he is silently and unsuspectedly doing 
his work. One of that household — perhaps the 



236 SAMUEL BUDGETT. 

mother — is stretched upon a sick-bed ; slowly and 
reluctantly the impression creeps over the mind that 
it may at last prove to be a death-bed. Hopes long 
cherished, like flickering tapers, die, and at last the 
mother dies herself. She had gathered her little ones 
round her dying bed to give them a mother's warn- 
ing, to add a mother's blessing and then to fall asleep. 
And what of home now ? Is it not indeed the valley 
of Achor ? Is not the silence which reigns there, or 
the wail which alone breaks the silence, enough to 
dissipate the spell which binds us to home, and con- 
vince us that even it too soon becomes an asylum 
for mourners instead of an abode of the happy ? 

Yet the truth which Jesus brought from heaven 
to earth can shed radiance even upon the dwellings 
of sorrow — and we are now to glance at the charac- 
ter of one who well understood that fact — whose early 
home was one of privations, but who learned from 
the teacher sent from God how to dry men's tears. 
He was one of the merchant-princes of England 
and it were difficult to say whether the profusion with 
which he sowed, or the luxuriance which he reaped 
was the more remarkable. 

Samuel Budgett was the son of poor but pious 
parents, who lived at Warrington, the birth-place of 
John Locke. He was born in the year 1794; and 
happily for him, truth and grace were valued where 
he first saw the light. His parents, though poor, 
possessed the pearl of great price, and they early 
taught their boy to fear and worship Him from whom 



THE POWER OF PRAYER. 237 

our blessings come. His mother in particular was 
devout, and her influence was largely blessed to 
Tiiould the character of her son. When about nine 
years of age, the boy, in passing his mother's door, 
heard her earnestly praying for himself by name. 
The thought occurred — " My mother is more earnest 
that I should be saved than I am for my own salva- 
tion," and his biographer tells that from that hour 
Samuel Budgett became decided to serve his God. 
That impression was never effaced, for the religious 
convictions which were thus produced, deepened and 
gathered strength ; and when he heard of the happy 
death of a poor woman, which happened about that 
period, the boy " felt an ardent desire to lie down 
and die by her side." Other incidents operated in 
the same direction ; even the fall of the leaf had a 
salutary effect on his meditative mind ; how much 
more when the mother whom he loved appeared 
drawing near to death ! The youth was despatched 
for a physician, and as he returned from his melan- 
choly errand, his prayers were urgent that his parent 
might be spared. Nor did he pray in vain on that 
dark winter morning. The God who hears the young 
ravens when they cry, heard and answered young 
Budgett ; and whatever was the cause, he returned 
to his sick mother's cottage fully assured that she 
would be restored ; nor was he disappointed. And 
it was not wonderful though that mother, after her 
recovery, had reason to say, '* I have been profited 
and humbled by Samuel's conversion. Although 



238 THE FIRST PENNY. 

young in years, he is a companion for age as well as 
youth." 

Samuel Budgett once found a horse's shoe, for 
which he received a penny. A friend doubled it 
by giving him another penny for removing some 
rubbish, with the promise of a third, if the second, 
which he marked for that purpose, were kept for a 
fortnight. It was kept ; and the child became the 
owner of threepence. That store slowly increased 
to some shillings, and the whole was invested in a 
copy of Wesley's Hymns, with which he felt him- 
self to be a rich and a happy boy. When only a 
child, he would sometimes burst into tears in church ; 
and on one occasion, so deep was his emotion, that 
he had to be carried out to be soothed. Watt's 
hymns for children were the first to awaken his 
fondness for devotional poetry, and he loved them 
ever after with the force of a strong passion. 

Thus trained, young Buclgett became at length an 
apprentice boy at Kingswood, near Bristol, famed 
for the moral wonders wrought among its colliers 
by the preaching of Wesley and Whitefleld ; and 
how different w r ould the condition of apprentices be 
were their conduct in general like that of Budgett ! 
how happy, how honored, how rich might they be- 
come ! As statedly as the Sabbath returned, he 
repaired to his place of worship, thirsting for the 
water, and hungering for the bread, of life. A ser- 
mon, we are told, was to him a repast, a banquet, 
a festival ; and often after he had heard one, he put 



HEARING FOR SlriliNITY. 239 

his fingers to his ears to prevent tht, entrance of any 
distracting or disturbing idea, while he hastened to 
the solitude of an old quarry, there to meditate on 
what he had heard. That was his study — -his place 
where prayer was wont to be made. There he 
sowed both for time and eternity, and we shall here- 
after see how abundant was the harvest which he 
reaped. In taking heed how he heard, he was grow- 
ing rich towards God, and learning how powerful is 
the word of Him who said — " I am the light of the 
world ; he that follows me shall not walk in dark- 
ness, but shall have the light of life." 

But Budgett traded with his spiritual talent. 
When an apprentice boy, he became a Sabbath- 
school teacher, and continued to be so till the close 
of his career. The hours thus spent he reckoned 
among the most happy of his life ; and we need not 
wonder, therefore, to learn, that often er than once, 
in common with a great cloud of Sabbath-school 
teachers, he contemplated going far hence to the 
heathen, to tell them of the Saviour whom he loved, 
and had felt to be precious. When deciding what 
should be his path in life, he was in a great strait, 
he says, between two courses — business in the world, 
or entire consecration, directly and by designation, 
to the service of his Redeemer. On this subject, he 
on one occasion wept, till the point of his saddle 
and the shoulders of the horse were wet viith his 
tears ; and he abandoned the thought of becoming 
a missionary, only from a feeling that he had not 



240 DEVISING LIBERAL THINGS. 

received a sufficient education, and could not over 
come his reluctance to open his mind to anv one 
who could have helped him on his way 

Nor were these mere emotions pass' « way like 
the morning cloud. On the contrary, « > embodied 
themselves in substantial actions, for Budgett early 
learned to adorn the doctrine of God our Saviour. 
Early in life he somehow became possessed of fif- 
teen shillings. His sisters needed coals — he invest- 
ed his entire fortune in that article, and sent the 
supply to his sisters. His parents on one occasion 
were in straits ; Samuel was then in possession of 
thirty pounds, and the whole was handed over to 
relieve them from their difficulty. On another oc- 
casion, when an elder brother, who had not been a 
very kind brother to Samuel, was in difficulty in 
business, the latter gave him all that he possessed 
in the world — one hundred pounds — to extricate his 
brother and uphold his credit. These, and instances 
such as these, make it plain that Samuel Budgett 
was not merely a hearer, but also a doer of the 
Word, and he was blessed in his deeds. He had, 
in truth, become a benefactor to not a few while 
only an apprentice lad ; he was sowing abundantly, 
and it remains to be seen how abundantly he reap- 
ed. He had thrice given his all away — did he lend 
it to the Lord, or was it only another instance of 
indiscriminate profusion % 

In other words, how did Budgett reap % In a way 
the most remarkable that ever fell to the lot of man 



LENDING TO THE LORD. 241 

We have seen that even when he was compara 
tively poor himself, he gave to others with a profu 
sion which appears lavish and extreme ; but though 
he scattered, he increased. Some accounts report 
that he gave away £2,000 every year in charity ; 
in one week he gave away £60, while the value of 
the property which passed through his hands as a 
merchant, amounted for a single year to about 
£750,000. He built a spacious school-house for 
the poor near his home ; he founded libraries — he 
actually made the poor rich. In short, he gave 
away, in the service of Him to whom his all be- 
longed, a sixth part of his income, and that upon a 
formal and deliberate calculation of what his duty 
was. 

Again : we have seen that when an apprentice 
boy, Budgett made an old quarry his study, and 
there meditated on the sermons which he had heard 
— such w T as a portion of his work during seed-time, 
and when harvest came, he found that quarry his 
own by purchase. He filled it up, and over the spot 
stood his mansion, surrounded by acres of garden, 
and lawn, and field, interspersed with flowers and 
fountains, and arbors of weeping ash, and all that 
could betoken elegance linked hand in hand with 
plenty. The apprentice boy, guided by the godli- 
ness which his mother taught him from the Bible, 
and blessed by the Father of lights, has become the 
lord of that manor. His lines have fallen in pleas- 
ant places — like David, " he went on and grew 
21 



242 PLEASANT PLACES. 

great, and the Lord of hosts was with him," 01, Jike 
Joseph, " he was a prosperous man," for the self- 
same reason. 

Again : it was the practice of Budget! in ear] y 
life to look to God for a blessing upon all tbat he 
undertook. He expected no success v-lthout that, 
for he thoroughly understood that, unless the Lord 
shall build the house, they labor in vain that build 
it. And as he proceeded in that spirit while sow- 
ing, in reaping he gathered in full sheaves into his 
bosom. " Never have 1 witnessed," said one con- 
cerning him, " such a remarkable instance of a firm 
of mercantile men being guided by the Saviour's 
injunction, ' Seek ye first the kingdom of God and 
his righteousness, and all these things shall be added 
unto you.' " And we have already seen, that such 
were the additions made to him, that the annual 
value of the goods bought and sold by one who be- 
gan with a penny, amounted to £750,000. 

Farther : of Budgett's youth we read that " his 
thirst for means of grace was strong and steady ; his 
Bible was beloved — his Sabbath was a day of eager 
hearing, eager reading, eager meditating, and even- 
tually a day of ardent teaching and visiting — his 
hymn-book was passing almost entire into his mem- 
ory, and his path of filial duty was trodden with self- 
forgetting constancy. Inside all this was a warm 
delight in God— a gratitude — a love-— a filial fear." 
And while that was the character of his boyhood and 
youth, what was his character in maturer years'? 



DILIGENT IN BUSINESS SERVING THE LORD. 243 

For an answer, we obseve, that in his vast premises 
in Bristol, the visitor was led to one large room 
which contained no merchandize, and had no air of 
business about it. A long range of forms, and a 
table at the head, formed its only furniture. But 
on that table lay Fletcher s " Family Devotions," 
and Wesley's Hymns. — It was the chapel of the es 
tablishment, and there the men assembled every day 
for half an hour after breakfast, to praise that God 
who gives power to get wealth, and from whom all 
blessings flow. Now, that was a beautiful example 
of that rare combination, "diligent in business 
.... serving the Lord." Will many of our youth 
follow the example of Budgett % Then they may 
not perhaps arrive at his wealth, but they will as- 
suredly understand to their blissful experience, that 
" better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a 
stalled ox and strife." Youth may be — it is — the 
season of joy, but it is also the season of sowing. 
The growth will be stinted at the best, or if it be 
luxuriant, it will be the luxuriance of noxious weeds, 
unless the Sun of Righteousness be sought to ex- 
pand the bud into blossom, and fruit, and mellow 
richness at the last. 

But we have not yet exhausted the story of the 
life of Budgett. Once each year, at least, a balaj ice- 
was struck, that he might know his profits or his 
loss ; and as soon as that operation was over, he and 
his partner retired into an inner office, knelt down 
before the Lord of all, acknowledged his goodness 



244 THE CURSE OF PROSPERITY. 

in the increase granted, or his correcting hand in 
the loss. Now, was his business less likely to pros- 
per because he recognized the Sovereign Proprietor % 
Nay, is not property only a name — a mirage — a lure 
to ruin forever when the Supreme Proprietor is not 
recognized ? The curse of unsanctified prosperity 
ranks among the heaviest of all. 

But we must look deeper still into the heart of 
this merchant-prince, if we would learn all the 
lessons of his life. " My soul," he once wrote, " is 
greatly oppressed because of sin. I shall never be 
happy till I find a Saviour from the love, the power, 
the guilt, and the sad effects of sin — as it respects 
future punishment. I believe such a Saviour is 
provided, but He is not my Saviour — I do not know 
Him — He has not saved me from my sins; but I 
am resolved to try if I cannot find Him, so then I 
will seek Him, first and oftenest, and with the most 
diligence, for I am in danger till I do find Him. O 
when shall I find Him ! How long shall I seek 
Him ! Lord grant that I may never have rest till 
I feel that He is formed in my heart, the hope of 
eternal glory. Amen." And as he thus watched 
against sin in himself, he strove to counteract it in 
the souls of his children. He felt the need of the 
close and inward action of God's Holy Spirit to 
make the bad heart good ; and the richest of all his 
reaping, next to his own salvation, is thus described 
by his biographer : — " That his children might thus 
be changed was his earnest solicitude : and in that 



HUNGERING AFTER RIGHTEOUSNESS. 245 

his heart was comforted ; for early, very early, he 
saw them, as one by one they sprang up, smitten 
with deep contrition for their sins, turn earnestly to 
the Redeemer, seek his mercy, find it, and live to 
make his heart glad in life's warm heyday, and to 
cheer the hours that border on the grave." 

Yet that man lay very low before God ; indeed, 
humility was one fountain of his joy, In the class- 
meeting, the thought of his own short-comings often 
caused him to shed many tears— as if his whole 
soul were abased before the holy God. While Bud- 
gets knew to thank God for the privilege of aiding 
others, especially those of the household of faith, he 
was not the less, but the more ashamed, when he 
thought of the sins which tarnished all that he did. 
He accordingly often sowed in tears, but the seed 
which that bore was precious, and the return was 
sixty, seventy, yea an hundred-fold. 

But the time came when Samuel Buclgett must 
die. He had had trials before that period in the 
death of some whom he loved — but he himself must 
now away to the city of the skies ; and what was 
the manner of his departure % He was profoundly 
abased at the thought of his short-coming — out-gush- 
ing grief for ingratitude, and prayers of piteous 
abasement, we read, signalized his closing days. 
Yet withal there was joy — a foretaste of the joy 
that is unspeakable. When he saw his disease mak- 
ing progress, he said, " It will only hasten me home 
the sooner." " Mind, I am a sinner saved by grace 
21* 



246 CHRIST IS ALL. 

— a brand plucked from the burning," was one of 
his expressions. " I sent for you," he said to a 
friend, " to tell you how happy I am : not a wave — ■ 
not a ripple — not a fear — not a shadow of a doubt, 
I did not think it was possible for a man to enjoy so 
much of God on the earth — I am filled ivith God." 
" I have not a paper to sign — not a shilling to give 
away — not a book but any one may comprehend .in 
ten minutes." " I this day hang like a little child 
in a brook catching hold of a branch that is thrown 
out to save it ; only there is this one difference in 
my case — I hang on the branch of Jesse's stem. 
Christ will keep me, and I am safe." " I would not 
alter my lot if it were in my power to do so for any 
earthly advantage. The blood of Christ is all to 
me. I hang upon the atonement." " I do not feel 
myself like a sick man ; I feel I am luxuriating in 
God's presence." " Could I live like an archangel, 
still I could not merit heaven." " I like to hear of 
the beauties of heaven ; but I do not dwell upon 
them — no- — what I rejoice in is, that Christ will be 
there ." — Such were some of this merchant-prince's 
closing remarks — such the harvest of hope, nay of 
fruition, which he reaped even here. The field was 
white unto the harvest, and his soul was satisfied to 
the full with the abundance which was there. 

Now, whether would the young reap as this man 
did— or, like the man who amasses more than he 
can count, and yet forgets God amid it all % 

Whether would the young live as this man lived. 



THE CONCLUSION. 247 

and die as this man died — fearing and serving God 
— or live and die as they do, who say to the gold, 
Thou art my god; and to the fine gold, Thou art 
my confidence ? 

Whether would the young learn to give to the 
poor, and so lend to the Lord ; or grasp all they can, 
and hoard all they grasp — ungenerous in heart — un 
feeling — selfish — unlovely and unloved ? * 



CONCLUSION. 



Thus have Ave attempted to illustrate, from the 
life and the actions of men in different ages, the close 
connection which God over all has appointed between 
the character which we wear, and the misery upon 
the one hand, or the joy upon the other, which is 
infallibly our lot. And if aught could deepen our 
impression of the closeness and the in variableness 
of that connection, it would be the survey which we 
have taken, superficial as it has necessarily been. 
The laws which bind the planets in their orbits is 
not more unvarying, inexperienced youth, indeed, 
may attempt to e^i.H from that law, and yet be 
nappy or truly successful in life, but not more un- 
wise were the attempt to seek life in the grave, or 

* For a full account of Samuel Budgett, the reader 
should peruse "w;tl. care his life as "The Successful Mer 
chant." 



248 THE CONCLUSION. 

happiness in the consuming flame. God's laws are 
as unchanging as God himself; and one of these 
laws may be thus expressed — To be wicked is to 

BE WRETCHED TO BE HOLY IS TO BE HAPPY. The 

history of the world — the history of every home, and 
every heart, is only a commentary on that law. 

Will the young, then, be their own friends, and 
learn wisdom betimes ? Will they seek Wisdom 
early ? Will they employ the seed-time of life with 
diligence, that its autumn may enrich them w^ith the 
peaceable fruits of righteousness ? 

Would they see their gray hairs brought in sor- 
to the grave % Then let them neglect their God, or 
turn in contempt and indifference from his unchang- 
ing laws. But would they see their hoary hairs 
turned into a crown of glory ? Then, with holy de- 
termination they should enter on the right way — 
with holy perseverance they should press forward 
there ; and in the world to come, at least, they 
would reap life everlasting. 



TUB ENI>, 



r 



